


No Longer A Ghost

by Ryu_No_Joou



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, F/F, Gen, High Honor Arthur Morgan, M/M, Major game spoilers, Post-Game(s), Retcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryu_No_Joou/pseuds/Ryu_No_Joou
Summary: Timely intervention by strangers, combined with what might be magic, saves Arthur's life.... now, he has to reunite with those he loves, especially John Marston. MAJOR SPOILERS for Chapter 6 and the Epilogues. Minor spoilers for the rest of the game.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Sadie Adler/Abigail Roberts Marston
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *MAJOR GAME SPOILERS* if you haven't finished Chapter 6. I retconned my fingers to the bone, though!
> 
> Chac belongs to the very amazing and talented [Nudebeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nudebeme/pseuds/Nudebeme), thank you so much for letting me borrow him my dear, and I apologize for the tweaking I gave his background.
> 
> Sirius and Lyra are my own OCs.

**~~Chapter 1~~**

Arthur gazed at the sunrise, a brilliant display of blazing oranges and pinks, subdued blues. It was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful, and the last sunrise he'd ever see. A tear rolled down his swelling, bloody cheek…. just one. He wasn't feeling sorry for himself, he was feeling sorry for those who had gone before him, who hadn’t had the chance to see such a beautiful sight. He deserved to die, thought it was funny how after everything he'd been through, it hadn't been a bullet or a knife or a wild animal to kill him, but a little germ. 

He hoped Marston had taken his advice. Hoped he was smart enough to take Abigail and Jack and run far. "Revenge is a fool's game," he remembered Dutch saying. Hopefully John didn't have any notions of going after Dutch and Micah…. Arthur sighed, then coughed weakly. He didn't bother to wipe the blood from his lips. For a moment he wished he had the strength to draw the sunrise in his journal, perhaps too grand an epitaph for an outlaw like him, but Arthur was glad he could die with such a beautiful sight before him. Besides, John had his journal now.

"Goodbye, John," Arthur whispered. What a fool he'd been to ignore his feelings for so long. They could have had so much more….. "Goodbye, Abigail, Jack…. Charles, Sadie." He closed his eyes. His thoughts turned from the living to the dead. Hosea, Lenny, Sean, Susan…. Perhaps they could band together again in hell. A weak smile appeared on his haggard, beaten face. Why, he could even imagine Dutch joining them eventually, hear his booming voice telling them all _"I have a plan, everyone! We're going to take this place over!"_

Dying took an awful long time, didn't it? Or was he already dead and his soul still thinking his thoughts? No, he could still feel the cold ground beneath him, his hand on his thigh, the soft breeze against his cheek. Faintly, he could even hear what sounded like hoofbeats. John, maybe, coming back for him? No, not even Marston was that stupid. Too many hoofbeats anyway, unless John was bringing an entire posse it couldn't be him. Ah. Probably those four horsemen of the apocalypse Swanson used to rant about when drunk, come to drag Arthur to hell. War, Famine…. what were the other ones?

"Woah, hold up, there's a man up there!" A woman's voice.

"Oh, shit." A man, with an accent almost like Javier's. "Sirius, help me."

Footsteps sounded in the dirt beside him. Arthur wearily opened his eyes to see two men crouched beside him, one a Mexican with long dreadlocks, the other a Native with a black braid. "Christ, what happened to you?" the Mexican asked. "Somebody beat you good! They shoot you, too?”

"Naw," Arthur rasped weakly. "Get away from me, I’m dyin’. I got the TB. Don't… don't want you to get it too."

He expected the men to pull away, but they didn't. The Native reached into his satchel and pulled out a bottle, uncorking it. "Drink this."

Arthur did as he was bidden. The liquid burned going down, shocking him out of his daze and making his eyes water."Shit," he gasped out. "That's some drink…"

"Not a drink. Medicine." The two men helped him up, supporting him on either side. The woman, dressed in trousers and boots in a style reminiscent of Sadie, was there too, gathering Arthur's fallen Lancaster.

"Naw." Arthur tried to protest. "Y'all leave me here, let me die. 'S what I deserve…" 

"No one deserves to die, and not like this," the woman said soothingly. "No arguments, mister."

Arthur was helped up on a mount, which bore him patiently. He swayed slightly as the Mexican climbed on. "Take it easy, amigo. Hold on to me, rest your head on my back if you want. I ain't gonna let you fall."

And Arthur did just that, feeling the sway of the animal underneath him… a donkey, it felt like. He clutched at the man's poncho, closing his eyes. He still felt like shit, but…. somehow, better? He wasn't even sure he was dying anymore. Or, he was already dead and this was just a dream.

If it was a dream, it was the most vivid he'd ever had. He could smell smoke on the Mexican's poncho, could smell donkey and horse and hear the hoofbeats and snorts of the animals. His saviors talked a little, but Arthur couldn't concentrate on what was said. His eyes closed. "Marston," he muttered softly, and surrendered to the darkness.

***

The crackling of a fire was what woke him. Ah. Probably the flames of hell. Funny, though. They weren't nearly as hot as the preachers claimed. In fact, they were comfortably warm. A little heavy though. Arthur opened his eyes. No, that was a pile of blankets pulled up to his chin. He was laying in a soft bed, the crackling coming from a fire in the grate. He looked around curiously. He was in a log cabin, and a few bed rolls neatly lined up against the wall showed him he wasn't the only one staying here. His gunbelt hung from the bedpost, and he saw his Lancaster and the rolling block rifle John had given him propped up in a corner. Well, he hadn't been robbed, at least. "H-hello?" he asked weakly. 

"You're awake!" A woman emerged from a room off to Arthur's left. This was the woman who'd seen him on the mountain, he realized. She brushed his hair away from his face and placed her palm against his forehead. "Still no fever, I think you're lucky."

"I… I'm not dead?"

"You came awfully close. Good thing for you Chacito and Sirius know so much about herbs and medicines." The woman smiled at him. She appeared to be a few years younger than Arthur himself, her long brown hair neatly braided and a shy look on her face. "Here, I have something for you to eat." She helped him sit up before bringing over a bowl of porridge and a glass of…

"Is that vinegar?" Arthur wrinkled his nose at it.

"Yep, and you'll not like it, but drink it."

"Drink it?"

"All of it. Trust me, it's good for TB.”

Well, he figured he had no choice. He took the glass and threw it back like it was a shot of the finest whiskey. It sure made his throat and eyes burn like whiskey, and he had to fight not to gag. The woman gave him a handkerchief and he coughed into it, getting himself under control. When the spasm passed, Arthur clutched the handkerchief, afraid to look at it. But when he did, it was… clean. Not a spot of blood. He looked up at the woman in amazement. "Vinegar did that?! Damn, give me the whole bottle, I'll drink it right down!"

The woman giggled behind her hands. "Vinegar isn't a miracle," she laughed. "No, we've been giving you medicine while you were out."

"How… how long have I been here?" Arthur gulped.

"About a month. I told you Chacito and Sirius know a lot about medicine. They mixed together a concoction and we've been pouring it down your throat. Call us crazy, but we didn't want you to die." She stirred the porridge. "Here, eat up."

Arthur accepted the meal and took a small bite. "This is good," he said, trying to place the exotic flavor. "What kind of porridge is this?"

"Medicinal. Chac made it for you with bananas, honey, turmeric, and aloe. An old TB cure handed down in his family, he said." The woman smiled. "Sorry, I have no manners…. I'm Lyra."

"Arthur Morgan." It seemed odd, introducing himself to a pretty lady while eating porridge in bed and dressed, he realized, in nothing but his union suit. 

"Nice to meet you, Arthur. " Lyra rose and fetched a drink of water for him. "Do you feel any better?"

"I…. I feel a little stronger," Arthur answered honestly.

"Good!" The door opened behind Lyra and two men came in, whom Arthur recognized as the ones who had saved him. 

"Our patient is up! You owe me five dollars, Flaco." The Mexican grinned widely at Arthur, revealing a few gold teeth in his smile. "Don't take it personally, mister. Flaco here is a moody bastard and always assumes the worst, but Lyra and I knew you'd pull through."

He drew up a chair to Arthur's bedside. "Chacito Ozai at your service, but you can call me Chac. The big bastard over there is Abram Sirius Tillinghast Junior, call him Sirius, or Flaco, and you'll get on just fine. Call him Abram and… well, just don't, okay?"

"Flaco?" Arthur didn't speak Spanish, only knew a couple of words Javier had taught him.

"Skinny. Look at him! Bony as a starved mule." Chac laughed heartily and Lyra shook her head, taking the empty bowl from Arthur. Sirius was thin with long legs in a way that made Arthur think of John, except he was much taller. Probably the tallest man Arthur had ever seen. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Not… great, but… better," Arthur replied cautiously. "How did you… how? The doctor in Saint Denis told me I was gonna die. I sure felt like I was dyin'... especially on the mountain." He regarded the trio in front of him warily. "Magic?" he muttered, scrubbing his hand up his face and finding a wild tangle of beard. It was hard to imagine, but not… impossible. He'd seen odd, unexplainable things in his life.

"Maybe a little," Chac shrugged, and Arthur wasn't sure if he was serious or not. "My mami is what the folks in Lemoyne call a 'gris-gris woman', knows all you'd ever want to know about plants and… yeah, a little magic. Sirius here had a Cherokee shaman as a grandfather and his tribe had ways of dealing with sickness that you white folks haven't bothered to learn."

"Most think it's witchcraft," Lyra said.

"Do you, miss?" It sure sounded like witchcraft to Arthur, but who was he to argue with results? The clean handkerchief was proof enough, he'd been coughing up blood since returning from Guarma. And when he breathed, he didn't feel that stuttering, rattly sensation in his lungs anymore.

"I can't think that something that can help people can be bad," Lyra said. "If it is witchcraft, which I doubt, it's the good kind."

Arthur mused on this for a few minutes, until Sirius spoke up. "You got any family? Anyone we can try to get in touch with?"

"Most of my family's gone," Arthur muttered. "I don't know…. maybe Marston."

"Do you know where he is?"

"I told him to head west and avoid Blackwater. Hopefully he ain't too stupid or stubborn to ignore me."

Lyra opened her satchel and took out a scrap of paper and a pencil. "What's his full name? Any aliases?"

"John Marston. He could be goin' by James, Rip Van Winkle, or Tacitus Kilgore." He had to smile a little at their raised eyebrows. "Marston is terrible at thinkin' up names… Tacitus, now, that was… well, a gang alias. If you can get him a letter, sign it that way, he'll know it's genuine. He's with a woman named Abigail Roberts for sure, and their little boy. Might be a Charles Smith or Sadie Adler with them." He hoped that was the truth.

"We'll do our best," Sirius said, taking the scrap of paper and tucking it in his pocket. Chac rose.

"All right then, we'll let you rest now. Lyra will take good care of you. You ain't dying, but you're gonna have to rest awhile longer before you can get up."

"Thank you," Arthur said hoarsely. "All of you…. Thank you."

"We couldn't have left you there to die," Lyra said softly. "No need to thank us."

Arthur settled back on the pillows and allowed Lyra to wipe his face with a damp cloth as the two men departed. It felt good. She tucked the blankets around him more firmly. "Try to sleep some more, Mr. Morgan. Sirius and Chac are pretty good at finding people, that's why we came here. Lots of bounties to collect."

"Hunted a few myself," Arthur said drowsily.

"And don't worry. The law ain't gonna find out about you. Not from us, anyway."

Arthur gaped at her in shock. She shrugged. "We passed through Lemoyne, saw the wanted posters for your gang. I didn't think it was really you until you told me your name. But like I said, you're safe. The Pinkertons are nosy bastards and we don’t care for them. Sirius and Chac were outlaws as well, at one point. And from what I heard in Saint Denis, no one's interested in Arthur Morgan… they think you’re dead. The big target is Dutch Van der Linde and some other named Micah Bell. Apparently Bell’s been causing misery all up the coast, and Van der Linde… well, the Pinkertons seem to be mighty embarrassed that most of the gang got away. They want to prove they can at least catch the leader.”

"Shit." Arthur said softly. It had become evident by the time the gang had arrived at Shady Belle that Dutch was beginning to lose it. And once they'd all fled to Beaver Hollow, it was plain as day. In the end, Dutch had completely abandoned his family and his ideals. The way he had looked down at Arthur on the mountain… as Arthur bled and coughed and whispered _“I gave you everything I had”_… Well, he hadn’t gone with Micah, at least. Maybe in that moment he had realized exactly how Micah had used him, pulling him like a puppet on strings. 

"I'm sorry," Lyra said sadly, seeing the look in Arthur’s eyes. "You were close?"

"Dutch and his partner Hosea raised me. I owed them a lot." Arthur sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He didn't want to think of either of them just then. Instead he thought of John, their first and only kiss before he had put his hat on John's head and told him to run. Would they see each other again? 

***

Another week passed. As much as Arthur hated feeling useless, his saviors refused to let him do anything but lie there. He ate porridge, drank the vinegar, and took his medicine. To pass the time he daydreamed, daring to hope that he’d recover and find the others again, start a life somewhere the law didn’t know them. In the evenings, he talked with and observed his new acquaintances. Lyra with her long braid hanging over her shoulder as she bent to check the fire; Chac with his wild dreadlocks, playing a guitar and singing; Sirius with a crooked grin that reminded Arthur of John. After the wolf attack, John had adopted a lopsided smile, raising only the left corner of his mouth to avoid splitting his stitches. Though Arthur never thought he'd admit it to himself, it was a nice smile. Somehow… cute. That was also a first, Arthur had never expected to apply the word "cute" to scarred, greasy, stubborn John. But there it was.

"Can I get up?" Arthur asked one morning. "I'm grateful, really, but I'm mighty sick of looking at these walls."

Chac considered. "I think so. You've been doing pretty well. How about we draw you a bath?"

"That'd be fine," Arthur said. He was beginning to be embarrassed over his wild, unkempt appearance and… well, he probably stunk, even though Lyra had never commented on it.

"Sit tight, we'll take care of it." Sirius rose (what did his gatdang mother feed him as a boy?? Arthur had never seen a man that tall) and loped outside, followed by Chac. Lyra rummaged through some cupboards and came up with soap and towels, and a clean union suit that would fit her patient. After fifteen or twenty minutes the bath was ready, and Arthur was led outside, leaning on Chac. He was wobbly after being in bed so long, but he certainly felt stronger.

The bath was set up on the back porch, the early summer warmth making it a perfect location. Once he was settled in the tub, Arthur let out a long, contented sigh, tilting his head back. 

"Just shout when you need us," Chac said, and they left him to bathe in private.

From the cabin's surroundings, Arthur figured they were near Strawberry. Tall pines surrounded the yard and stable, and he could see Chac's donkey grazing peacefully in the paddock alongside a Morgan with a glossy red-brown coat and black mane. Nearby stood a massive black horse, Arthur thought a Percheron. That had to be Sirius', he chuckled to himself. Oh, it felt good to laugh again. He wasn't a good man, he deserved to die, but right now he was glad to be alive. With the help of his rescuers, he might even be able to… well, find John and the others and start over, just as he’d imagined. Maybe, even, explore the possibility of a relationship with John…

The bath did wonders for him, as well as a shave and a haircut, which Sirius did for him. Dressed in the clean union suit and laying in the bed which Lyra had made up with fresh sheets, Arthur felt much better. 

"Your color's coming back," Lyra said happily. "How do you feel?"

"Not quite there yet, but so much better. I owe you… there’s some money in my pants pocket, if I recall correct and it didn’t fall out. Take it. For carin’ of me."

Sirius shook his head. “Don’t need it.”

“But-”

"Amigo, we don't want it." Chac said firmly. "We left Lemoyne with plenty of money to see us through, and we've brought in some good bounties while you were asleep. Keep it. You'll need it in the future."

Before all this, Arthur would have laughed. Thought them weak. Maybe made plans to rob them once he was able to. But he'd discovered something, especially as Dutch's gang crumbled. He… he wasn't all bad. In fact, he'd begin to like helping people…. And probably owed it. Maybe that's why he'd been spared. To make up for the sins he'd committed. 

***

Another month passed. Arthur grew stronger every day, eating well and taking walks around the property, doing small chores. He made friends with the horses and donkey, and Lyra's gentle Morgan Lady let him ride her. 

Summer had arrived in all its glory, and the woods were alive with birds singing and animals moving through the trees. Arthur was content to sketch them on scraps of paper Lyra found for him, and they grew used to his quiet presence. He relished in the sunlight, the gentle breezes. But most of all he treasured being able to breathe, to no longer cough until he vomited blood. To live.

He learned more about the others. Sirius was the son of a Cherokee who had joined the army in Lemoyne and rose to General, leaving his wife behind to join high society and carry on an affair with a friend's daughter. But halfway during the Civil War he had deserted both the army and his mistress, fleeing west with his wife and their two sons to rejoin their tribe. Sirius sneered at the memory of his father, who had been kicked out of the house three years later for being a "drunken whoremonger". His mother had raised her boys as best she could, but Sirius ran away at 16 and became a gunslinger and outlaw. Eventually he got to Mexico, where he met Chac and the pair became partners. 

Chac had been born on a farm, but his mother had been, by his own admission, a sorceress. But she was very popular, doling out cures and curses both physically and… otherwise. His father was a heavy drinker but infinitely more good-hearted than Sirius', and a big animal lover. Chac left home around 17 or so ("don't remember exactly when") and turned to crime, hoping for a good score. He and Sirius met in a saloon and hit it off immediately, and over the years they'd robbed and raised hell across Mexico and the desert of the United States. Then, after a couple of years in prosperity, the mining town they were last living in dried up and was abandoned. The pair came east and discovered they were good hands at bounty hunting.

Lyra was the daughter of a ship's captain and had spent her childhood on boats and piers throughout New England. She loved the water and her father had been training her to take over for him. But a storm claimed the ship and both her father and brother. "Mama died of grief not long after," she told Arthur sadly. Alone and unable to get a position on a ship despite her knowledge because of her sex, she went to work as a secretary. She passed several years in that manner before deciding to see the west. She'd made it as far as Saint Denis before two thugs kidnapped her. "I got very lucky," she said. On the road, her cries for help had alerted Sirius and Chac as they passed by, and they'd killed the kidnappers and set her free. Seeing she was afraid and alone, the two men took her under their wing and trained her to help with their bounties.

The cabin had become their headquarters, an abandoned home that worked quite nicely once they'd made some repairs. Chac reckoned they'd been living there about six weeks before they'd brought Arthur home. It was small, but easily defensible and warm when cold weather came around.

As time went by, Arthur grew to trust the others. Despite working as bounty hunters, they obviously had no plans to turn him in. They were good to him. Arthur owed them his life, but they would not accept any payment. He still forced ten dollars on them to make up for the food he ate, ignoring their protests.

"Seems like y'all have had a tough time," Arthur said as they all sat in the warm evening twilight one day after supper. 

"It seems you have too, Mr. Morgan," Sirius said. He'd told them some of what happened, the deaths and chases and Dutch's madness, Pinkertons and O'Driscolls and goddamn Micah. 

"Guess so. They was family, you know. That's why I want to find Marston and the others. They deserve to know I'm alive. I know we can't go back to the way we was, but together maybe we can live straight."

***

It was mid-July when Sirius rode up to the cabin, calling for Arthur. The blonde cowboy had been shelling peas on the porch, and he hastened over. Sirius swung off Nightmane's back and pressed a letter into Arthur's hand.

"We've been putting out a few discreet inquiries," Sirius said. "And today this was at the post office. Hope it's what you're looking for."

Arthur slit the envelope and drew out the letter, his hands shaking a bit. He didn't even notice Chac and Lyra join them as he read.

_"Dear Uncle Tacitus, _

_We are relieved to hear you are feeling better. You must come to visit, once you feel strong enough. I am staying up north, where my mother's house once was before the fire. Your brother is with me, along with his wife and son. Our mutual friend Lone Wolf is staying with us as well. Please join us as soon as you can, we miss you greatly._

_Your loving niece,  
Caroline"_

The letter flooded him with relief. For the first time since they'd met him, Arthur looked up at the others and smiled, a real smile, his blue-green eyes shining.

"They're alive. And they're together. John and Abigail and Jack, Sadie and Charles…. They're waiting for me."

Lyra couldn't help but meet that smile with one of her own, clapping her hands excitedly. Sirius smiled and Chac squeezed Arthur's shoulder.

"I need to go to them." Arthur looked back down at Sadie's letter. _'Where my mother's house once was'_.... they had to be near the ruins of Sadie's homestead. Either there or Colter, the abandoned town nearby that the gang had sheltered in over the winter. But….

"I need a horse. Some warm clothes. It won't be this warm up there." 

"Take it easy, amigo." Chac said. "I know you're excited, but you have some preparing to do. I told you to save your money, huh? Tomorrow we'll ride up to Strawberry, get you a horse and anything else you need. In the meantime, gather your strength. It wasn't that long ago you were at death's door."

As eager as he was to get going, Arthur knew Chac was right. He tucked the letter into his pocket and returned to the peas. 

***

It was one of the longest nights Arthur had ever had, but he managed to get some sleep. After breakfast the three men saddled up and rode out. Arthur questioned leaving Lyra alone, but Sirius had just winked at him. "She's no shrinking violet anymore, even if she acts like it. If anyone tries something while we're gone, they'll get an almighty surprise."

Chac rode ahead and doubled back with the news that no Pinkertons were in town, and there wasn't even a wanted poster of Arthur anywhere. But there certainly was of Dutch and Micah, their faces reproduced in scowling detail. Micah currently had a price of $15,000 on his head. And Dutch was up to $30,000. Arthur shook his head in disbelief. What had they done? The $5,000 Milton had claimed was offered for Arthur seemed paltry in comparison. 

The stablemaster showed no signs of recognition, either, and Arthur was able to examine the horses at his leisure and selected a brown Appaloosa speckled with white and black for $100. He purchased a new saddle and bed roll, knowing sadly that his old supplies now lay in the mountains where he'd nearly died, along with poor faithful Ranger, his sturdy Shire. Ranger and John's horse, Old Boy, had died on the mountain, shot out from under their riders. 

A trip to the general store got Arthur food, tonics, ammunition, a coat, scarf, and gloves. It all helped a lot to make him feel more like his old self. Well…. A better version of his old self.

Now, his rifles slung across his back and his gunbelt low on his hips, astride a horse, Arthur Morgan was back where he belonged. Almost. He wouldn't truly be himself again until he was with his family once more.

"Thank you," he said to Chac, Sirius, and Lyra. "Thank you… so much. Hell, I ain't good at this... thanking people and saying goodbye. but I'll never forget what you did for me. And if I can ever repay you, I sure as hell will. Send old Tacitus a letter and I'll do what I can."

"Take care, amigo," Chac clapped Arthur on the back and handed him a packet of powdered medicine. "Just in case, but you don't need it anymore. Stay off the tobacco and go easy on the coffee if you can."

Sirius squeezed his shoulder. "Ride fast but don't wear yourself out. Get your family someplace safe as soon as you can. Go west. If you can, get out of the country."

Lyra hugged him tearfully, and Arthur pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, Arthur. G-good luck. I'll miss you."

"Thank you again. I'll miss y'all too. But I'll never forget your kindness. Remember what I said. You need help, find me." Arthur mounted his new horse and rode off, looking back one last time at the kind people he'd come to regard as friends. They waved to him and he waved back, before taking a deep breath. "Okay, boy. Let's go."

***

It was a three-day ride up to Colter. There didn't seem to be any federal agents in the area, but Arthur played it safe, traveling only at night, avoiding towns and homesteads, and camping far back in the woods. He got more nervous as he got closer, half-afraid the letter was a trick and half-afraid it wasn't. He still had Marston to face, that kiss on the mountain to discuss, and the prospect made him nervous.

The woods were much cooler than Strawberry, but it hadn't begun to snow yet. Arthur found the trail easily and rode cautiously. His first stop was Adler Ranch. It looked as abandoned now as it had months ago, the house nothing but burnt wood collapsed in the cellar hole. The barn was sagging but empty, and Arthur spent the night in there, writing on scraps of paper and listening to a thunderstorm overhead. His horse got nervous and Arthur went to calm him, stroking his neck and nose.

"There, boy, you're okay. I know, it's a little loud, but it'll pass…" He counted the seconds between rumbles of thunder. The storm was, indeed, moving away. "You're a good boy. Let's think up a name for you, shall we?" Spot? Freckles? Dot? No, those weren't any good. Arthur thought hard, back to Hosea's old books. Caesar? Alexander? No, wait. That last one gave Arthur an idea. "Bucephalus," he said. The Appaloosa's ears twitched at the name. "You like that, boy? Hosea told me that one a long time ago. Bucephalus was Alexander the Great's horse. Yes sir, a noble name." As he talked, Bucephalus grew calmer, and the storm faded to gentle rain, the thunder only a harmless grumble far in the distance. Once his horse was calm, Arthur returned to his bedroll and closed his eyes. He had a big day tomorrow, he was sure of it.

***

The next morning was bright and beautiful. After a breakfast of oatcakes and canned strawberries, Arthur packed up and was on the road. He began to whistle as he rode. The sun filtered through the trees and the fresh breeze ruffled his hair. Soon, Colter loomed in the distance. It looked quiet, but smoke curled from the largest house's chimney. Arthur rode forward cautiously, one hand on his pistol. He didn't see a soul, but he saw a wagon behind the big house, and a few horses. His heart leapt when he recognized Taima and Bob.

"Who's there?!" Charles' voice. The man stepped out of hiding, rifle ready.

Arthur blurted the first thing that came to mind, the way he'd greeted guards at their camps for years. "It's Arthur, you dumbass!!"

There was a pause, then Charles lowered his rifle and rushed over. Arthur leapt off Bucephalus and the two men seized each other in a crushing hug, slapping each other on the back. Charles turned to the house and shouted. "Get out here! Arthur's back!"

The door opened and suddenly the gunslinger was lost in a whirlwind of hugs and shouts. Jack was hugging his knees, chanting "Uncle Arthur! Uncle Arthur!!" over and over, his dog Cain prancing around and barking happily. Sadie and Abigail had grabbed him at the same time, Abby's tears wetting the shoulder of his coat as Sadie punched his arm playfully. Uncle was there, cackling and pounding Arthur on the back. 

"Arthur." And there it was, the hoarse voice he'd longed for the most. John was standing a bit behind the others, that crooked smile on his face and Arthur's hat on his head. The others let Arthur go and he strode to John, who met him halfway and grabbed him. They hugged tightly, desperately, John burying his face against Arthur's neck. Arthur tangled his hand in John's long hair.

"Thank God you're safe," he whispered. "Didn't think you'd be smart enough to do what I said, but I'm glad you did." He wanted to kiss John, but he wouldn't. Not yet. Not until he knew where they stood, though John seemed to make it clear in the way he clutched at Arthur's shirt and breathed on his neck. His voice was shaky. 

"I'm so goddamned glad you're alive." John finally looked up at him, his brown eyes warm and welcoming. He took the hat off and put it on Arthur. "Never thought I could return this to you… fuck. I'm… I'm so happy."

They'd been holding each other too long, Arthur realized. But as they released each other, he noticed no one seemed to care. Abigail smiled brilliantly at him, and Sadie hustled them all inside to talk.

"You're all safe," Arthur said, relieved, soon as the door shut behind them. "I thought for sure you'd have hightailed it as far as possible…"

"Wanted to bury you first," John muttered, nodding over at Jack, who wasn't paying attention. "We didn't tell him you were, uh… we just said Uncle Arthur was doing something in Saint Denis."

"That was foolish, John," Arthur said, but there was no reproach in him. He might have done the same if their positions had been reversed. Or some other story. Jack was smart for his age, but he still wasn't even five yet. And surrounded by so much violence and death …. Anything to spare the boy some pain. He longed to thank them all for waiting, even if his return had seemed impossible, but he couldn't find the words. Instead he asked, "And the others? I heard Dutch and Micah have gotten themselves into very deep trouble since we… parted."

Angry noises came from all the adults. "Dutch is lost," Sadie said. "And I mean that, Arthur, he done lost his mind. When I first met all of you, he seemed okay. Then I started noticing things that seemed a little off… and it didn't seem right to me. Y'all are smart. I couldn't see y'all following a man like that. But I got the idea, from speaking to Hosea, that Dutch hadn't always been like that."

"He wasn't," Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "When he took me in, he and Hosea were fighting against a world that didn't care about its people. We robbed banks, sure, but we only kept the minimum we needed to survive, and gave the rest away. They took John in. They started finding people disillusioned with what the world was becomin', and turned us all into a family." John, Abigail, and Uncle were nodding. "I know near … near the end, Hosea was angry Dutch had turned from those ideals. Before Blackwater… Dutch was still a good man. But Micah… I still don't know how he got Dutch's ear. Looking back, all the plans that went wrong… Micah was behind it all, from the ferry up to that goddamn bank job in Saint Denis. Guess we shouldn't've been surprised to find out he was the rat. I think… I think if Micah hadn't always been there hissing in his ear, Dutch might've been okay. Not like his old self, but not taking those big gambles, puttin' the rest of us in danger. We might've actually made it to Tahiti."

But it hurt too much to think of Dutch anymore. He looked up from his hands. "Enough about them. Where are the others? Tilly, Karen?"

“Tilly stayed with us for a few days, then left to go hide out in Saint Denis. Believe it or not, she’s got good friends in the suffrage movement who will hide her. Karen… well..” Charles shifted uncomfortably. 

“Karen’s dead, Arthur.” Abigail near-whispered.

“What?! How?!”

“She drank herself to death,” Abigail closed her eyes. “You know how broken up she was about Sean. We all tried… so hard to get her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen. And one morning she… she was…”

Abigail started to cry. Sadie pulled her close, protectively, anger in her eyes. “Dead. Alcohol poisoning.”

“Well, damn, didn’t any of you try taking it away?” Arthur asked, but dread was rising in his throat.

“Of course we did! The stuff she had weren’t nothin’ any of us had seen in camp. Rotgut, and the worst kind, too. She might as well’ve drunk paint thinner.” Sadie looked furious. “There weren’t any of it camp the day before, I’ll swear to it. Don’t even know how or where she got it, but it was enough.” Sadie looked bitter.

Arthur swallowed hard, looking down to realize his hands were balled into fists. He forced them to open. Sean. Kieran. Hosea. Lenny. Molly. Susan. And now Karen. All snowballing from the Blackwater job, where their flight north had ended up in them losing Davey, Mac, and Jenny. Dutch’s plans, egged on by Micah, who, as Arthur had realized, hated them all. How many deaths would it take before Micah was happy? 

Oh, but he had a bad feeling Micah wouldn’t be happy until the entire gang was in the ground.

“Anyone else make it out?”

Charles sighed. “Javier and Bill stuck by Dutch. The ones who left before it all went down… Trelawny, Pearson, Mary-Beth…. They all have small crimes, or none, to answer for. They can get by, integrate themselves back into society. The rest of us…. well. We came here to figure out our next step. We would have been gone by now, but John and I… we wanted to bury you and…uh. You were missing.”

“I went to the post office on a whim,” John muttered. “Asked about Tacitus Kilgore and damn near passed out when the clerk handed me a letter. Thought it was a trap, or … something old. Hell, I don’t know. But I opened it and someone had written that you were alive.” Arthur could see the pain in his eyes. “Told us not to leave just yet, that you’d be joining us soon.”

His fingers clenched on his knees and he took a deep breath. “Wasn’t sure what to make of it. Figured it was a Pinkerton scheme. But the letter said to go to the saloon in Strawberry and see a tall Native. Charles and I went. And he was there. Tallest damn man I ever saw, riding a black horse big as a house. He didn’t say your name, but told us you were getting along, that he and his friends had brought you to their home and… well, cured you.”

“His grandfather was a shaman,” Arthur said. “And his friend had a gris-gris woman for a momma. They put together some concoctions for me. Cured… guess I’m cured. I ain’t coughin’ no more. I can breathe again. And I feel like my old self again.”

“That’s amazing,” Abigail whispered.

"I still wake up thinkin' I'm dreamin'," Arthur said. "It… it feels so goddamn good to be alive. Never thought about it before… after all we been through. Took nearly dyin' to make me appreciate what I got." He met John's eyes. They would have to talk later, away from the others, discuss what was to come. Not just for the family, but for themselves. Arthur wasn't blind, he'd seen Sadie's gentle touch on Abigail's arm. Seen the expression in Abby's eyes when she looked at Sadie. It'd been a long time coming and Arthur was glad for them. He'd known all along Abigail and John hadn't been in love, that Abigail only persisted because she wanted Jack to have a father. And finally the dumbass had stepped up, at least where Jack was concerned. 

No, not a dumbass any more. John had matured a little since Arthur and Sadie had broken him out of prison. Acted more like a grown man should. And he had kissed like one, clutching Arthur's shirt, their lips meeting hungrily and passionately in a goodbye laced with regrets and missed opportunities. Now, through some kind of miracle, they had another chance. But there were more pressing matters at hand.

"We need to leave. Tomorrow, if possible. The law's distracted because of Dutch and Micah, and as far as my new friends could find out - and that appears to be pretty far - there's not a Pinkerton or a wanted poster of us anywhere west of Lemoyne. While we have the chance, we should go west. Far west, where nobody will know us. We'll avoid Blackwater, and if we can we need to leave the country. Canada, or maybe Mexico. But we have to do it quick, while people ain't payin' us no mind." 

“You’re right.” Charles nodded and shouldered his rifle, as Abigail rose to begin packing. “I’ll bring the wagon around.”

John caught Arthur’s elbow as they rose. His brown eyes scanned Arthur’s face anxiously. Arthur waited, knowing John had something to say. 

“You look like yourself again,” John finally said, hoarsely. “Your color’s back and… your eyes ain’t full of blood anymore. You’re really… you’re really better, huh?”

“Yeah.” Arthur nodded. 

“Can we… talk about it?” John asked, and Arthur knew he wasn’t talking about the recovery. 

“We will, John. But first we need to get someplace safe.” Arthur put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I promise you.”

“Okay.” John sighed, then turned to start putting things in crates. “I... I have the rest of your things,” he said, nodding over at a chest in the corner. “Ain’t all of it, I’m afraid, but I got most of it back for you. Charles and I did.”

“Why?” Arthur crossed the room, kneeling to open the chest.

“Dunno why. Seemed… wrong, to leave it there.”

Arthur’s satchel lay on top, John hadn’t even opened it. His journal resided inside along with his money and trinkets. On top of his clothes sat the framed picture of his mother, his horseshoe, the rest of his photographs. His little flower in the jar. One or two books. His varmint rifle. 

“Couldn’t get it all, like I said,” John muttered. 

“S’ok. Thank you.” Arthur still felt it had been foolish to risk capture for a few lousy belongings. But he felt more at ease as he slung the satchel across his body and felt its comforting weight at his hip. He turned back to John, who cracked a smile. 

“There’s the Arthur Morgan I remember.”

“Let’s go help them out,” Arthur couldn’t help but smile back, latching his trunk closed. There was a lot to get done before tomorrow. But they’d do it together, as a family.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO BETAS EXCEPT MYSELF YEEHAW please forgive my errors

**~~Chapter 2~~**

The remnants of Dutch’s gang rose before the sun and packed the last of their belongings. Arthur scanned the slowly lightening sky, and took a huge breath. It whooshed out of him effortlessly and he thought he’d never take breathing for granted ever again.

“We’re gettin’ out not a moment too soon,” he said to Charles behind him. “I don’t like the look of the sky over the mountains.”

“No, me neither. It smells like rain. I think there’ll be a very big storm in the next few days, and I don’t know how long these old cabins will stand.” Charles lifted Cain into the wagon, then swung up into Taima’s saddle. 

“You’re probably right there.” Colter only seemed sadder and more dilapidated than Arthur remembered, and it would be good to leave it behind. 

John climbed up on the wagon, Bob and Uncle’s new horse Nell III hitched up to it. Arthur mounted Bucephalus, strapping his Lancaster to his saddle. “Keep the guns handy but not out in the open,” he instructed his friends. “We don’t want to call attention to ourselves, but we need to be able to fight back if we have to.”

“You think it’ll come to that?” John asked.

“Don’t think so. But to head west we’ve got to go south first, into New Austin. We won’t get over the Western Grizzlies otherwise, and it starts snowing early up in the mountains. Don’t want us taken by surprise like the Donner Party was.” They all fell silent. The Donners were a tragedy that happened before any of them were born, but they’d all heard the story, a cautionary tale anyone who lived a nomadic lifestyle committed to memory. 

“So… New Austin. To get there we’ll have to pass by Blackwater,” Arthur resumed as he spurred Bucephalus along and the little caravan started on its way. “Not too close, and I’m hopin’ with the Pinkertons on Micah’s trail there won’t be many out that way who recognize us. Miss Lyra told me the law thinks I’m dead, but my poster’s probably still up on the wall in the sheriff’s office, John’s and Charles’ too. It’s better to be prepared. But don’t draw attention to yourselves,” this last directed mostly at Uncle.

Abigail sighed from her spot in the wagon bed, where Jack had fallen asleep in her lap. “Will we ever stop running?” she asked sadly.

“I sure do hope so, Abigail,” Arthur said. “Once we get out where nobody knows us. But there’s a lotta miles to travel before we get there.” There was no use lying to them. His recovery might just be a goddamned miracle, but it’d take a lot of hard work on their parts to escape unseen.

“We got a cover story?” Sadie asked, and Arthur nodded. 

“Was up half the night thinkin’ of one. John and I are half-brothers. Arthur and John Callahan. Obviously, Abigail, you’re Mrs. John Callahan. Sadie, our half-sister, in case anyone wonders why we all don’t look too similar. Uncle, you’re old Pa Callahan, buried three wives, think you can remember that?”

“Of course, son,” Uncle said with a wink, and Arthur knew he probably would. If nothing else, Uncle would want to save his own skin, and without them he’d probably have no idea where his next meal or drink would be coming from.

“And you Charles, good friend of the family, Charles Sanford. We keep our noses clean, no stealin' or shootin'. Just a family out lookin’ for opportunities, probably headin’ to California. Read in the paper not long ago miners in the southern part of the state were predictin’ a new gold rush. Readin’ between the lines, I’d say it’s a hoax or a publicity thing, and Hosea agreed with me. But the Callahans, _they_ don’t know that. Figured they might as well leave the poverty in Annesburg and make themselves a fortune in California, right?”

Sadie laughed out loud. “Arthur Callahan, you ain’t as dumb as you look,” she teased. “Hell of a story, I think we can all remember that…. right?” Everybody turned to look at Uncle, who held his hands up in defense.

“Hey, I don’t wanna get caught by Pinkertons! I’ll keep the story straight… kids.”

“You best, Pa,” John snickered. “God almighty, we must'a had saints for mothers to put up with this old coot.”

The group’s laughter lifted Arthur’s spirits. They weren’t out of danger, not by a long shot, but he thought they could make it. Their group was much smaller and less noticeable than the traveling circus the Van der Linde gang had become in the end, and without idiots like Micah running their mouths and getting themselves arrested they’d have a quicker, easier time.

By noon Colter was far in the distance and Arthur had instructed the others that they were going to avoid Strawberry proper, but that he needed to stop at the stables outside town. He was feeling surprised and embarrassed that they obeyed and, in fact, seemed to be taking him as the de facto leader now that Dutch was gone. Maybe even after all this, the idea of a man with a plan was still comforting to them. 

“I have to go myself,” Arthur muttered softly as they neared the stables. “I’ll just be a min-”

“No,” John said. “Arthur, if they see you…”

“There’s no one in town who knows us. And I need to get Buell.” Arthur hated to leave behind the Dutch Warmblood, left to him by his friend Hamish. Buell was a stubborn horse, but he and Arthur had been getting along quite well. He’d left Buell in Strawberry with the full intention of coming back for him after blowing up Bacchus Bridge, but things had snowballed so _quickly_…. well. He could only hope the stablemaster hadn’t sold him already.

“You know as well as I do it’s always good for a gang to have spare horses. And… I promised, John. I promised I’d take care of him.”

John bit his lip. “But if anyone recognizes you… even if they don’t know who you are… all anyone has to do is give out a description of you and the stable workers will remember you. And Buell ain’t a horse easy to forget.”

He was right, but Arthur had always been attached to his horses, and losing Ranger had left a wound on his heart. He wouldn’t let another horse down.

“I’ll do it,” Uncle said, and everybody looked at him in surprise. “What? I can see it means a lot to you, Arthur. You got the papers?”

“Y-yeah.” Arthur drew them out from where he’d kept them neatly folded in the back of his journal, along with some money to pay the stables. “Be careful, Uncle. I left the Tacitus Kilgore name there.”

“Got it, my boy. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” John and Charles helped Uncle unhitch Nell III from the wagon and replace her with Bucephalus. Arthur stood by his horse’s head, stroking his nose and talking to him gently. He tried not to imagine the possibilities that Uncle would get caught by Pinkertons or sell Buell for some drinking money, but the fears proved unfounded as the elder man returned half an hour later, riding Nell III and leading Buell. Buell was snorting and stamping, tossing his head, until Arthur spoke up.

“There’s my boy.” Instantly the big golden horse stopped pulling and trotted over as soon as Uncle let go of his lead, nudging Arthur with his nose. Arthur laughed softly and stroked his neck. “It go okay, Uncle?”

“Got him just in time, the stable owner was ready to sell him for the storage fees. Told him Tacitus was my son, asked me to fetch Buell for him since Tacitus hisself was on his way to New York.” Uncle chuckled as he watched Arthur saddle Buell up. 

“Thanks, Uncle. I’ll overlook the fact you _probably_ didn’t spend all that money I gave you on the horse,” Arthur said, glad to be reunited with Buell, who nickered softly as if he felt the same way. Arthur swung into the saddle and the little group was on their way again. 

After another couple of hours, they took a break in the woods to eat their lunch and stroll around to loosen up their stiff muscles from riding. It wasn’t the longest any of them had ever ridden, but they took turns sitting on the hard, uncomfortable wagon seat to drive and that left a stiffness in a person. Arthur was also discovering his weeks of bedrest had made him a little less accustomed to the saddle. It’d pass in time, he was sure, but it felt good to stretch. However, it was something he didn’t have the time to deal with right now. Uncomfortable he may be, but comfort was something that could wait until they were in New Austin, at least.

Later in the afternoon, as Charles drove, John and Arthur fell back behind the wagon to talk softly.

“We’re gonna need money,” Arthur muttered. “I hate saying that, don’t wanna sound like Dutch, but it’s the truth.”

“Don’t worry about that,” John winked at him.

“Huh?”

“You think the picture of your momma’s the only thing we went back for? Abigail knew where Dutch’s stash was hidden, Micah didn’t. We snuck back into the caves once the Pinkertons cleared out and made off with it. Three thousand dollars in cash. Where the fuck Dutch got it all, we don’t know.”

“Holy shit.” Arthur could barely wrap his head around it. “Where is it now?”

“You didn’t go through your things, did you? It’s under your clothes. All bills. Charles and I pretended we only got half that, gave Sadie, Abigail, and Uncle enough to keep them afloat if we got separated.”

“That was genius, Marston.” Arthur was awed. “And it was all in camp?”

“Yup. We’re just lucky them rat-faced friends of Micah’s didn’t go nosing around in there and find it. Dutch had hidden it well in the junk those Murfrees left behind, but Abigail… well. She did good.”

“So long as we keep our heads low and don’t do a lot of spendin’, that money will last us awhile. Maybe even put down a payment or two once we find someplace to settle.” Arthur was grateful for whatever instinct had told Abigail to spy on Dutch and see where he’d hidden the stash.

John nodded. “Might get a chance to be happy. Abby is a bit down about movin’ again, but she’s glad we have a chance.” He bit his lip. “You gave us that chance, Arthur. If it weren’t for you… well, Micah would’ve killed me. I know Abby and Jack’d be fine, Sadie would protect them, but…”

“I ain’t a hero, John.” Arthur sighed heavily. “Don’t talk like I am. Just… wanted to do somethin’ right in my life.”

“You did,” John said fiercely. “And I’m gladder than I can say that you lived to join us. If I ever see the people who cured you, I’ll give them every last cent I have.” 

They were quiet for a bit, then Arthur spoke up. “So you ain’t… bitter or nothin’? 'Bout Abigail and Sadie?”

“Bitter? Naw. Saw right off they was meant for each other. It’s somethin’ that’s been goin’ on awhile, and I can’t be mad at Abby. I wasn’t givin’ her the attention she needed. Besides… well. Think I made myself pretty clear on the mountain.” He snapped his mouth shut. “Sorry. You said we’d talk about it later.”

“We will. In private.” Arthur wanted a little more privacy than this, when he didn’t have to scan the horizon constantly for threats. 

“Arthur!” Charles called back. “I think we can cross the Upper Montana here and then settle in for the night. I know an isolated place not far from here.”

“Good idea, Charles,” Arthur responded. “John, you go up ahead and help calm the horses. I’ll take up the rear.”

The river wasn’t too deep at this time of year, and they crossed with no problems. It wasn’t long before Charles guided them to a small clearing in the pines, with a sheer rock face on one side. It was a perfect little spot, easy to defend and water nearby. As they’d done countless times in the past, the gang set up a little camp, feeling the loss of Miss Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson sharply. But they managed to put together a decent enough meal of canned vegetables and salmon on crackers. It had been a very long day of traveling, and everyone was tired. The women, Jack, Uncle, and John went to bed, and Arthur supposed he should too, but he wasn’t tired just yet. He sat up with Charles, who had volunteered for first watch. Cain came over and rested his head on Arthur’s boot, the blonde reaching down to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

“How did everything go with the Wapiti?” he asked Charles in a low voice.

Charles sighed. “As good as it could, I suppose. We buried Eagle Flies before going up north. Rains Fall wouldn’t let me go the whole way with them. We had planned on going up to the Canadian border, but he told me to go back. Told me my friends were in trouble.” The big man’s shoulders sagged. “I rode hard. But I was too late.”

“Never too late, Charles,” Arthur said hoarsely, patting Charles’ shoulder reassuringly. "You kept the others going, just like in Lakay."

“I buried Miss Grimshaw. Bumped into Uncle in Annesburg and he… well, he decided he was coming with me.” Charles snorted, a tiny grin on his face. “We joined up with the women at Copperhead Landing, and I helped Tilly get to her friends’ safehouse after that. Once John got back to us, we headed for Colter. Figured, with the O’Driscolls dead, nobody would suspect us to be hiding out there. We didn’t plan on staying long, but like John said, we wanted to... uh…”

“Bury me,” Arthur supplied.

“Well… yeah. But we couldn’t find you, and then John got that weird letter… well, you know the rest.” Charles glanced down at Arthur, who was cleaning under his nails with his knife. “Arthur, those… those people who helped you. Are they trustworthy?”

“They saved my life,” the gunslinger said simply, putting the knife away. “At first I thought they’d turn me in, seein’ as they work as bounty hunters. But they didn’t. Told me themselves they hated the Pinkertons too, and that they’d been outlaws before comin’ to Lemoyne. I was with ‘em for almost three months, they had plenty of opportunity to do me harm, but they didn’t. I trust them, and if I ever get the chance to see them again, I’ll be mighty glad.” He met Charles’ eyes. “They gave me a second chance. When I was close to dyin’, I thought just gettin’ John out to be with his family was gonna be the last thing I ever did. But now I have the chance to… to make up for the bad I’ve done. To help you all. And maybe others.”

“You’re a good man, Arthur,” Charles said softly. 

“I’m not. But thank you.” Arthur rose. “You okay? I’m going to turn in, unless you want to.”

“No, go ahead. Sadie’s going to relieve me soon.” 

Arthur left Charles and went into one of the tents, where Uncle snored and John lay curled up on his side. Arthur removed his gunbelt and satchel before laying between them. John shifted slightly.

“You awake, John?”

“Can’t sleep with Uncle sawin’ lumber in my ear,” John muttered, rolling over to face Arthur. In the dim light of the campfire filtering through the canvas, they studied each other. Hesitantly, as if afraid he’d get bitten, Arthur reached out to stroke John’s cheek, tracing his scars. John sighed. 

“Did you mean it?” he asked, so softly that Arthur could barely hear him under Uncle’s snores. “Or was it just… because you thought you were dyin’? Thought it’d be safe because you’d be dead and I’d be goin’ back to Abby?”

“John…” Arthur wished there was a better place and time for it, but he couldn’t keep his friend hanging. “Oh, John. Of course I meant it. I’m an old fool. I should’ve told you a long, long time ago. But… you have a son, and I thought… well, I thought you and Abigail could make it work. So I kept my mouth shut. With everythin’ goin’ on, I didn’t see… didn’t notice how close Sadie and Abigail were gettin’. Sure, you and her fought, but you always had… so I didn’t pay it no mind, figured it was just part of you two bein’ a couple. But on the mountain… I fully expected to die. If not from the TB, then from either Dutch or Micah blowin’ my brains out. I had to let you know… so if I did die, I could go with a clean conscience about it all.” He let out a shaky breath. 

“I meant it too,” John whispered back. “We’ve always been at odds, and I know you hated me after I came back to the gang… But I always looked up to you. Thought maybe... maybe someday you’d come around… start likin’ me again. And after you and Sadie broke me outta Sisika, I figured I’d get you alone and tell you I… I… well, that I loved you. Thought I’d end up with a broken nose and a lot less teeth at the very least, but it’d be good to get it out in the open. Then everything went to hell, and it happened so goddamned _quick_…. and you were so sick… I kept my mouth shut. I was afraid. Then you kissed me. Sent me on my way. I wanted so bad to stay with you. But… I… it was like I heard Hosea talkin’ to me.”

“Hosea?”

“Reckoned it was a hallucination. But it was so goddamned clear. He said _‘John, if you ever loved Arthur, you take his advice and run. He’s sacrificin’ himself for you, and that’s not something to be taken lightly’_. So I went. It killed me inside, but I went. And when I got that letter… I damn near lost my mind. Took Charles, Sadie, and Abby to keep me from stealin’ a horse and riding out. Just to… to see you again.”

“Life ain’t kind to them that love where they shouldn’t,” Arthur said, bitterly. “Or rather, where _other folk_ think they shouldn’t. There might be times… well, there might be times we’ll have to ignore each other, or pretend you and Abigail are married, to keep us all from attractin’ any undue attention.”

“I know.” John’s hoarse voice was sad. “And the girls know it too. That people might not take to two women bein’ in love… or two men. But if... well, if…”

“If what?”

“If I can be with you, I can handle a few lies,” John said, letting out a shuddery breath. 

“Me too.” Arthur put his arms around John and drew him close. The younger outlaw trembled a bit, then relaxed in the embrace, clutching at Arthur’s shirt. Arthur hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear. “And I ain’t never hated you. Yeah, I was mad you ran off, disappointed, even… but I never hated you. Know I been miserable to you in the past, ‘specially after Mary gave me the boot, and after I…. well, lost Eliza and Isaac. I’m sorry about that. You deserved better, weren’t your fault those things happened. And I’m sorry I kept pushin’ you to Abigail when she weren’t the one you wanted… I just thought it would be better for you to have a family.” 

“They’re still my family, even if Abby and I ain’t in love,” John said softly. “And you are too, and Sadie, Charles… even Uncle. But you’ve been there the longest, Arthur… always had my back. And… if this ain’t a dream… if you really want me… well, goddamn, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Arthur stroked John’s cheek, a weight seemingly gone from his chest. “I love you, John.”

“I love you, Arthur.” John whispered back. 

“And I love gettin’ some sleep!” Distracted, neither of them had noticed the sudden lack of Uncle’s snores for the past couple of minutes. “Can you do this some other night?!”

“Oh, shut up, you old walrus,” Arthur said, fumbling behind him to smack at Uncle’s head. “Ruinin’ a heartfelt confession over here. You’re lucky we ain’t kicked you out for snorin’ loud enough to attract every lawman in the next five counties.”

“All right, you ingrate, no need to hit me!” Uncle rolled over and was soon snoring again. John snickered into Arthur’s chest.

“Get some sleep,” Arthur reprimanded him lightly, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his own face. “We’ve got a lot more ground to cover.”

—

The days passed. The group stuck to the Tall Trees area, where there was plenty of game for hunting and good camping spots. Sadie rode into Manzanita Post for news and some supplies, bringing back word that no one had seen Dutch, nor Micah. During the evenings, the group gathered around a map Charles had procured and discussed the best routes to leave West Elizabeth, and likely places where they could camp and get information. 

Word around the parts was a vicious gang of outlaws had taken up residence in the area. Charles and Sadie asked questions and reported back that the group were called the “Skinner Brothers”, and with good reason, considering what they did to their victims. 

“Abominations,” Sadie said flatly when John asked, tilting her head toward Jack, not wanting him to hear the details. “But the name’s well-earned. Word is they can sneak up right quick and quiet on folks, so we’d better get out of this area as soon as we can. Might have to stop lightin’ fires for now, eat cold out of cans.”

Abigail sighed, leaning on Sadie. “Every time I start to hope we’re in the clear…”

“We’ll be okay.” Arthur said, though he didn’t like the sound of those Skinners. “We’ve got the firepower and there’s enough of us to hold anyone at bay who shows up.” But he was uneasy. John gave him a questioning look, and he shook his head slightly. His family understood the risks, though, and they made good time until the rains from the mountains caught up with them. Fortunately, they’d found an abandoned cabin to shelter in, with a barn to keep the horses and wagon out of the rain as well. It was cramped quarters, with Abigail, Sadie, and Jack in the bed as the men slept on the floor, but better than being wet and miserable outside in the tents. 

Unfortunately, living shoulder-to-shoulder like this afforded them even less privacy than their camps in the past had, and gave John and Arthur zero chance to talk further about their relationship. Arthur would have liked to try kissing John again now that they were under less dire circumstances, but the most they could do was hold hands as they fell asleep and sit a little closer than usual around the fireplace. They hadn’t even kissed since the mountain, and as for anything further… well, Arthur knew they weren’t at that point yet.

It rained for a week, the ground too mushy for man or beast to travel. Arthur was restless, hating the idea of losing so much travel time, but knowing the wagon wouldn’t move more than a foot in the mud out there. He and Charles kept a close eye on the weather, hoping for a break in the clouds. And they finally got one, along with a steadily rising temperature that had the mud drying quickly.

A day or two after the sun finally emerged, Sadie and Uncle went to the nearest town to buy supplies and check for news. When they returned, Sadie was waving a telegram. “Arthur! For you, it’s urgent!”

Arthur took it, Charles and John reading over his shoulders.

“Urgent message from Lyra Klein to Tacitus Kilgore. **Dear Mr. Kilgore - stop. Urgent news from Strawberry - stop. Headed for Stillwater Creek - stop. Meet me there if you can - stop. Reply not needed - stop.**” Arthur bit his lip. 

“Who’s this Lyra Klein?” Abigail asked. 

“One of the folk who saved me. I didn’t expect to hear from her so soon… but I’d told them when we parted to send a message care of Tacitus Kilgore if they ever needed help. Stillwater Creek is off the lower Montana, if I remember correct. How long do you think, Charles?”

“Two days, two and a half, if we leave at first light.” Charles looked as worried as Arthur felt. 

“Okay. Then that’s what we’re going to have to do. These people… I owe them a debt. Probably one I can never fully repay. But I have to try. And if they’re in serious enough trouble to have contacted me already…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “Get everything ready to go. First light, we’re gone.”

—

If only it had been that easy.

The day started off well enough, the wagon loaded and horses hitched by sunrise and a route to New Austin carefully planned. Charles and Taima took the lead, John the side on Bucephalus, and Arthur in the rear on Buell. All three men had their rifles within reach, and Sadie had her pistols at her hip as she rode on the wagon with Uncle. The weather was warm, conversation lively. 

They let their guard down, Arthur knew it a split second too late. A scream came from the trees and he and John turned, startled. Charles shouted “Look out!” 

A barrage of arrows came from the trees, embedding themselves in the side of the wagon. Arthur heard Abigail and Jack scream inside, and Cain leapt from the back and charged into the woods, barking ferociously.

“Cain!!” Jack screamed, as his mother grabbed him and forced him to lay down among the boxes and trunks. John’s face hardened in anger at hearing his son frightened, wheeling Bucephalus around and drawing out his Remington. 

A yelp of pain sounded and the dog was thrown from the brush, landing hard. Cain staggered to his feet, growling, trying to stand despite one of his legs wobbling violently under him. Jack was crying.

“Abigail, keep him down!” Arthur bellowed, scanning the trees as Sadie leapt off the wagon, guns out. A group of smirking men dressed in dirty furs and leathers emerged from the trees, bows pointed at the travelers. 

“This here’s Skinner Brothers territory, city boys,” one jeered. “Y’all is tresspassin’. You’re gonna have to pay the toll… say, why don’t we start with Goldie’s scalp over there, she’s got real pretty hair.”

“Come and get me!” Sadie’s easily aroused temper flared up, despite Abigail’s cry of “Sadie, no!” She started shooting, and the Skinners returned fire.

“Shit!” John snarled, jumping off Bucephalus and giving the horse a slap to make him flee. 

“I was hopin’ we could avoid this,” Arthur growled, doing the same to Buell and ducking behind the wagon with John. The Skinners were quick with their arrows, but Arthur and his friends were faster and more deadly. Outlaw after outlaw met their end from the end of a rifle or revolver. A passing arrow tore Arthur’s shirt, and Sadie got a scratch on her cheek, but that was the extent of their injuries.

At long last, everything was silent. Sadie and John rushed to the wagon and helped Abigail and Jack out. Abigail fell into Sadie’s arms, crying, as Jack was hugged tightly by his father. Arthur and Charles cautiously ventured into the trees, but their attackers were all dead. 

“It’s a good thing that wasn’t worse,” Charles said to Arthur. “Sadie wouldn’t say, but the Skinners are called that because… well. They wanted Sadie’s scalp, I’m sure you can imagine how they got the name. I’ve heard rumors that they’re cannibals, too.”

“It’s the goddamned Murfree brood all over again,” Arthur started, but was cut off by Jack wailing. He left the corpses to return to the others, Jack was sitting on the ground with his dog’s head in his lap, crying. Abigail was trying to soothe him, as John and Uncle inspected Cain’s leg.

“Arthur,” John called, as Morgan jogged up to them. “You know more about dogs than I do.”

“Take it easy, Jack.” Arthur dropped to one knee beside Cain, the hound’s eyes rolling toward him. “Hey, boy. Let me see.”

Cain yelped when Arthur ran his hand gently up his right rear leg, but didn’t pull away. “Sorry, boy,” Arthur murmured, squeezing the leg gently as he checked for breaks. “Okay. Looks like it’s just a sprain. John, fetch me the medicine chest. Charles, we got anything we can use to splint this leg?” Most settlers would’ve shot the dog, but Arthur couldn’t stand to do that to Jack, whose big brown eyes were overflowing with tears. And Cain’s pained whimpers tore at Arthur’s heart too, reminding him of poor Copper's last days. 

“Shhh, boy. You’re okay.” Arthur took a roll of bandages from the medicine chest and accepted the sturdy pieces of wood Charles had ripped off a crate. He splinted and bound Cain’s leg tightly, Jack’s tears fading away to sniffles.

“Will Cain be okay, Uncle Arthur?” he asked. 

“He will.” Arthur stroked the hound’s head. “He’s gonna be hurtin’ for a little while, and won’t be able to run with you, but he’ll be okay in a week or two. It’s not a broken leg, at least, just a sprain.”

“Thank goodness,” Abigail said in relief, hugging Jack.

Sadie returned from where she’d looted everything useful from the Skinners, adding them to their stores. “We should get going.”

Abigail climbed into the wagon and John handed Jack up to her, but not before brushing a kiss across his cheek so fast that only Abigail and Arthur saw. Together, trying not to jostle the dog, Charles and Arthur lifted Cain into the wagon. Cain licked Arthur’s hands in thanks, his tail thumping against the blankets they laid him on. 

“Good boy.” Arthur whistled sharply and after a minute or two, Bucephalus and Buell emerged from the trees, Taima loping behind them. Before long they were back on their way.

—

Charles’ earlier travel estimate proved to be correct, though they’d lost a couple of hours to the Skinners. By noon of the third day they had crossed into New Austin and traveled down Stillwater Creek, finding a place to camp amongst a thick stand of willows. The area seemed deserted and Arthur saw no sign the others had been there yet. The small gang went to work setting up their newest home. New Austin was hot, but it was a dry heat, not like the suffocating humidity of Lemoyne. It felt good to Arthur, and the others seemed to share his sentiment. Their new little hideaway was pleasantly cool, though, shaded by the willows.

Arthur, John, and Sadie rode out to get the lay of the land, and found nothing. Just tall grass waving in the breeze and a single signpost pointing out the routes to Blackwater and Armadillo. The only building for miles, as far as they could see, was a rotting old shack near the head of the creek. Satisfied they’d be left in peace for at least a few days, they returned to camp.

Sadie had picked up a third tent in town for Arthur and John after the rains were over. It was a relief to be a little further away from Uncle’s snoring, and John muttered as much to Arthur one night after returning from his shift on watch.

“Finally, a man can get some thinkin’ done.” He leaned his gun in the corner and checked on Jack, who was sharing with them that night. His son was sound asleep, Cain curled up next to him with his injured leg stretched out.

“Oh, was you thinkin', Marston?” Arthur pretended to be surprised from where he sat on his bedroll, writing in his journal. “That’s funny, I don’t see no smoke comin’ from your ears.”

“Aww, shuddup.” John kicked off his boots and flopped down next to Arthur. “I was thinkin’ about you, you big tease.” He rested his head on Arthur’s knee, looking up at him. “Thinkin’ about how I wanna get someplace safe and kiss you again.”

Arthur shut his journal. He was pretty sure he was blushing, from the heat in his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But if you’re gonna be mean to me, maybe I won’t.”

Arthur stroked John’s hair. “Just kiss me, Marston.”

He leaned down and John caught his neckerchief, pulling it gently until their lips met. John’s lips were soft, welcoming, and it felt good to kiss him slowly like this, to savor the moment in a way they hadn’t had time for on the mountain. It wasn’t exactly the way Arthur had expected John to kiss, but he liked it. A lot. It was different than kissing either Mary or Eliza, and he surrendered to it. John reached up to knock Arthur’s hat off and combed his fingers through Morgan’s soft blonde locks. 

“You kiss nice,” he said, and Arthur chuckled.

“What, you expected me to bite you?” They changed positions, laying side by side on their bedrolls. 

“Knew you wouldn’t. Not with Jack here, anyway.” John smirked.

“You’re doin’ better,” Arthur said, his arm around John’s slim waist. “With Jack.”

“I’m tryin’.” John looked over at the sleeping boy. “You told me to grow up… but even before that, when we got him back from Bronte… I don’t think I was ever as mad in my life as I was the night we burned down the Braithwhite manor. Would’ve put a bullet in that old hag right there and then if it weren’t for Hosea standin’ next to me… never really knew how much I loved him until he got taken.” He sighed. “Do you remember the party we had?”

“Yeah.” Arthur remembered it clearly, the singing and drinking and celebration, the gang happy their beloved child was back. “I remember.”

“I took Abby aside. Told her it’d be easier to keep an eye on Jack if we all started sharin’ a room like… like a family.” John pressed his face to Arthur’s shoulder. “She agreed, but told me that she was… well, gettin’ feelings for Sadie. And that Sadie seemed to be returnin’ them. I told her I loved you. She kept it a secret… we kept both things a secret. Dutch was startin’ to lose it. Goddamned Micah always whispering in his ear… knew he'd make life an even bigger hell if he thought we was inverts..... and I’d heard Micah talkin’ about Abby when he thought I wasn’t around. Always wantin’ her. Sadie’s tough, but… if Micah thought it was only Sadie standin’ in front of what he wanted, he’d take her. Unless….”

“Unless you stepped up and started gettin’ serious about your family,” Arthur realized.

“Yeah. Backfired on the other end, though. Dutch started sayin’ Abby was ‘poisonin’ me’.”

“Yeah, he was pretty lost by the time we reached Shady Belle,” Arthur muttered. “And that streetcar accident… well, he hit his head pretty hard. Didn’t help anything, I’m sure.”

John sighed again. “Think we’ll ever see either of ‘em again?”

“I sure hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research on converting 1899 money to 2020 money, and my math skills are VERY poor, but $1 in 1899 was worth about $30 now, so Dutch’s $3000 would be worth almost $93,000 today. I think that’s a decent enough take to support a family of seven for awhile!!
> 
> Surprisingly, TB is not spread by kissing, so John is fine. In case you were wondering.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang: "Now I know I've got to" *STOMP STOMP*  
"Run away I've got to" *STOMP STOMP*  
"Get away"

****

**Chapter 3**

Stillwater Creek was an apt name for the area, as the remaining Van der Lindes discovered over the next few days. There was almost no sound besides the whirring of crickets in the grass, the hum of cicadas in the willows, and an occasional splash from the creek as a fish jumped or a muskrat paddled around. Arthur liked to sit and sketch their surroundings, though more than once the heat had put him into a light doze. It felt good to be able to relax, to take a breather and think about what came next without the pressing urge to keep running.

The others seemed to feel the same way. Beaver Hollow had been a lowly, desperate place that only reflected the feelings of despair and loss in the gang, but Stillwater Creek was bright and safe enough to raise their hopes. Abigail mentioned hesitantly that it would be nice to have a ranch in the area someday, or perhaps back in West Elizabeth. It was a sweet little dream, something Arthur allowed himself to think about as he lay in his tent at night, holding John and dozing off. It’d be nice, maybe… horses, cows, maybe a few sheep… he and his family working hard and eking out an honest living. 

And family was what they were. Always had been, but it was stronger now, this feeling of togetherness. Sharing chores and watches and keeping Jack occupied, making their plans and talking about the future. Their small group seemed closer than the larger gang had been, though they did miss sweet Tilly, kind Mary-Beth, strict but fair Susan. 

Then again, Arthur wasn’t quite sure how the rest of the gang - as open-minded and inclusive as they had been compared to other gangs - would have taken to the blossoming relationships that were finally allowed to deepen. He knew perfectly well that “inverts” hung for their sins, which was ironic seeing as he and John had spent their lives committing much more serious crimes. As he sat on a log one morning slowly cleaning his Cattleman, he wondered why it made a difference. Wasn’t love a good thing? Now that he had the heavy weights of tuberculosis, Dutch’s growing insanity, and the Pinkertons off his back, he could see more clearly, noting the look in Abigail’s eyes when she gazed at Sadie, and how gently Sadie spoke to her. Didn’t he have the same thing? Didn’t he feel a warmth in his chest at night, when John slept in his arms, when they kissed good morning? How could it be a bad thing?

He’d asked Charles curiously about it and Charles had just shrugged. “Don’t see anything wrong with it. I remember my mother’s tribe being open with such things. They believed in more than two genders as well. Same with the Wapiti, from what little time I got to spend with them. You won’t get any judgement from me. I think anything that brings a little more love in this world is just fine.” And his dark eyes had lingered on where Abby and Sadie sat with Jack between them, the boy slowly sounding out words from one of his Otis Miller books as John sat nearby, a small smile on his face as he watched. “No. It’s not a bad thing at all.”

Arthur was still dwelling on this as he polished his revolver, his mind miles away from the chore that was so familiar to him that he could have done it blindfolded. With John, it was something different than he’d had with Mary or Eliza… different, but familiar, too. And strong. They’d become a little bolder in their kisses and caresses, and though Arthur only had limited experience with other men, he was looking forward to eventual privacy to explore those feelings with John. 

Hoofbeats sounded in the distance and Arthur’s head snapped up. He stood and motioned to the others. Abigail hastened Jack into the tent, as everyone else drew their weapons, Uncle included. Cain growled softly. They waited as the hoofbeats got closer, Arthur now picking up the sound of wagon wheels as well. Arthur nodded to Charles and pointed, and Charles nodded back before slipping around the trees. The hoofbeats grew louder, until Charles shouted, “Who goes there?!”

“Woah! Amigo! We’re friends!” A voice Arthur knew spoke up, sounding startled. “We’re looking for a, uh, Tacitus Kilgore! Is he here?”

“Chac?” Arthur lowered his gun. Sadie and John didn’t. “Is that you?”

“Arthur!” Two horses and a donkey emerged from the trees, followed by a wagon pulled by two sturdy shires and driven by none other than Lyra. Charles followed behind, his rifle high and pointed at the backs of Sirius and Chac on horseback. The trio held up their hands to show they meant no harm. As they stopped, Arthur could see their wagon was loaded with what had to be half the cabin; guns, bedding, supplies, even Chac’s guitar.

“It’s okay,” Arthur said to his friends. “It’s okay. They’re the ones who saved my life. You weren’t followed?” he asked Chac.

“What do you take us for?” Chac swung off his donkey, as Sirius and Lyra dismounted too. Abigail emerged, curiously looking at their guests. Chac was as flamboyant as ever in his rainbow-striped poncho, his long dreads decorated with beads. Sirius was dressed in black, his collar unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, but not seeming to mind the heat. Lyra hitched up her skirts, running to Arthur and hugging him tight, as the men stretched. Chac grinned. “Amigo, you’re tough to find.”

“Well, that’s the point,” Arthur said dryly, patting Lyra’s back. “What’s all this?”

“Everything we’ve got left,” Sirius muttered. “Did you get the telegram?”

“Quite cryptic,” Arthur said. “But I know you probably couldn’t’ve put any news in writing. What’s the problem?”

“Micah Bell,” Lyra said, releasing Arthur and sinking to her knees to pet Cain, who was sniffing her skirts. “There’s wanted posters of him all over the city… most of the places we passed through, actually. We were in Blackwater and the sheriff called us in. Knew our reputation for catching bad folk and asked us to go after Bell.”

“Didn’t want to steal your thunder,” Chac said. “But we figured, if we could locate him, then get ahold of you… well, you could have yourself a little revenge, we’d bring in the body, and share the reward. There’s a pretty big price on his head.”

“I don’t care about revenge,” Arthur muttered. “I just… want to get away. Make sure we’re all safe.”

“I told them that,” Lyra said, looking at Sirius and Chac sharply. “It’d be foolish to let you and Bell meet… if there was even the slimmest chance he’d escape from us, it’d be a disaster if he saw your face and let it slip somehow that you were alive.” 

“Then why are you here?” John cut in, a bit jealously, Arthur thought.

“Well, we heard some things around town. Tracked Bell to a camp not far from that old ranch, Beecher’s Hope. He wasn’t there, but a few of his boys were. We had Lyra play the ‘lost rich widow’ bit and nabbed them effortlessly. It took a little… persuasion, but we learned from them that Bell found out you made off with whatever money Van der Linde had hidden, and he wants it.” Chac shook his head. “We rode hard, amigo. I’m just glad we got to you first.”

“He _would_ be after the stash,” Sadie snarled. “Can’t get close to the Blackwater money, so he’s coming after what we got like the train robbery wasn’t enough.”

“I’m betting he lost that,” Arthur said, sinking onto a log and putting his head in his hands. “When the Pinkertons raided Beaver Hollow, I’m sure they found the Army money and took it back. Like you said, Sadie, he can’t go to Blackwater to get that stash. I thought only Dutch and Hosea knew where it was hidden, but we can’t rule out the possibility that Micah weaseled that secret outta Dutch somehow. But with his face known and Blackwater on high alert, he can’t get it even if he knows exactly where it is. So we’re the next best thing.” He sighed heavily. “Any sight of him?”

“Not that we could find,” Sirius shook his head. “We’ve looked as thoroughly as we could with what time we had, but even his lackeys we captured didn’t know where he was.”

“We’re going to have to move,” Arthur said to his family. “Soon as we can.”

“I know a place further out in New Austin,” Chac volunteered. “It’ll be a good place to hide and think up a plan.”

“You’re coming too?” Charles asked abruptly. 

“Amigo, we was raided.” Chac shook his head sadly. “Almost, anyway. We were lucky to get out with the important stuff, but the cabin we were living in was burnt down. Whoever Micah’s got workin’ for him found out we was responsible for turning in their friends, and came out for revenge. Heard they was coming and we packed up and moved out, but we saw the flames. So, at the moment, we’re in the same boat as y’all. But if you don’t want us, we’ll go. We wanted to at least get you the news.”

Arthur considered. The group would be larger, but he knew Sirius and Chac were good with their guns and excellent trackers. They’d saved his life. Taking them along might save theirs. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to just say “yes” without asking his family. Making big decisions without anyone’s input was the Dutch way of doing things, and Arthur didn’t want to be like Dutch anymore. Hadn’t for awhile.

“What do you think?” he said.

John bit his lip. “It’s up to you, Arthur.”

“No. We’re all in this together. I want to be sure everyone gets a chance to speak up.”

“Well…” John fidgeted. Arthur could see he was still a little jealous that Lyra had hugged Arthur, but was seriously considering their danger. “It’d be good to have more guns.” 

Charles nodded in agreement. “Anyone not associated with Dutch is an asset to us, they can go into towns for supplies and news without bringing attention to us.”

Sadie scoffed, glaring up at Sirius, who had to be at least a foot taller than her. “If they try anything funny I’ll slit their throats.”

“Duly noted, ma’am.” Sirius tipped his hat to her.

“Okay,” Arthur relented. “We’ll stick together. You’re right about us being in the same situation. Better to have Micah and his boys come after one group instead of two, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Lyra said gratefully, looking close to tears. Abigail heard the quiver in her voice and stepped forward to take her hand. 

“You look tired. Come inside, change out of those sweaty clothes. We don’t have much, but you’re welcome to share.” 

“Thank you,” Lyra said again. “Miss…?”

“Roberts. Abigail Roberts.” Abigail raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who had neglected to make introductions. “This is my boy, Jack, and my… my woman, Sadie Adler. Charles Smith, John Marston, and Uncle.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lyra said. “Lyra Klein. This is Chacito Ozai and Sirius Tillinghast.”

Encouraged by the lowered guns, Chac removed his poncho and joined the others by the fire, followed more warily by Sirius. Lyra removed a bundle of clothes from the wagon and followed Abigail inside her tent, the women talking in soft voices. Sadie planted herself outside the tent, Jack in her lap, one ear turned towards the voices of the other two women. 

Arthur passed over a fresh bottle of gin. “Thanks for coming to warn us,” he said to Chac and Sirius, as John plopped down beside him. “I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this.”

Sirius accepted the gin. “Probably wouldn’t’ve been long before a gang found out about us or we was run off by the Strawberry sheriff for squattin’. Wasn’t the easiest move I ever took, throwin’ shit in the wagon while expectin’ a bunch of goons with torches to come out of the woods any minute, but we made it.”

“We knew the risks of bounty huntin’,” Chac said. “That Bell’s a mean one, huh?”

“Yeah.” Arthur stared into the fire. “When you found me… remember you asked if I’d been shot? I almost was, until Dutch showed up at the last minute. He stopped Micah from killin’ me… but stopped me from killin’ Micah as well. Micah would’ve shot me if Dutch hadn’t been there. Did a pretty good job of beatin’ me, too, though I like to think I gave as good as I got.”

John growled lowly in the back of his throat. Arthur hadn’t discussed what had happened on the mountain, it was still painful. He felt John’s hand cover his own, and was grateful for it. “This safehouse,” he said to Chac, changing the subject. “You sure it’s secure?”

“Yes. Unless some squatters have moved in, it should be empty,” Chac said. “We stayed there about a year while we were working for the sheriff in Armadillo. It’s on the San Luis, nice big house. Probably was a farm or a ranch at some point, but the owners were long gone by the time we got there. Good hunting and fishing in the area, plenty of water, might be able to start a little garden in the back… well, if y’all plan on staying.”

“There’s a Mexican gang out there, the Del Lobos,” Sirius said in a low voice. “Mean as shit. You got firepower?”

“Enough.” Charles nodded towards their wagon. “You?”

“Yeah. Figure we can hold them off if they show up, but last I heard they were making trouble near the border and were holed up someplace called Gaptooth Ridge, far to the west. Shouldn’t be a problem, but it’s best to be prepared, especially if you plan on heading towards the Pacific.”

“Let’s worry about Micah first,” Sadie bristled. “That no-good coyote, I hope he falls off his horse and breaks his neck.”

Arthur sighed again, troubled. “We should get on the road again as soon as possible. Tomorrow, day after at the very latest, I think. It’ll be good to have the river at our backs, harder for anyone to sneak up on us that way.” He glanced off to the west, where the sun was beginning to set. Abigail rose and began preparing supper, Lyra helping her. Sirius went to take care of their horses. 

“Arthur.” John got up and tilted his head towards the edge of camp. They left the others and ducked under a willow, hidden from view. 

“What is it?”

“You sure this is okay?” John asked him softly. “I know you’ve already said so but… you trust them? Really?”

“I really do.” Arthur put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I believe they’re tellin' the truth, as well. If Micah’s after them now… well, I’d feel responsible if anythin' happened. It’ll be okay.”

John leaned against the willow, taking a deep breath. “You know what you’re doing, Arthur. You usually do.”

There was still a note in his voice that Arthur found strange, and after a minute it hit him. “John… you ain’t… jealous, are you?”

“Jealous?” John ducked his head, hiding behind the brim of the new hat he’d had Sadie get him in Manzanita Post, charcoal grey with a studded band. Arthur liked it, thought it suited him. “Naw, why would I be?”

Arthur leaned in close, catching John by the chin and tilting his face up. “Miss Lyra hugged me. I saw the way you looked at her. You’re worried about trust, but it ain’t just about us bein’ killed in our sleep or turned over to the law, is it, Johnny?”

The younger man looked away, blushing. Arthur smiled. “It ain’t, huh? You’re cute when you blush.”

“I ain’t cute, don’t tease me.” John retorted. 

“Sure you are. And you don’t gotta be jealous. Look at me.” When John met his eyes, Arthur caressed his cheek. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I have eyes only for you? That a hug don’t mean nothin’ unless it’s you in my arms?”

“You’re an idiot,” John said, but he was smiling now. Arthur reached up and swept John’s hat off, kissing him as he did. His lover - was it okay to call John his lover? He’d called Mary that for less - kissed him back, his arms encircling Arthur’s waist. Arthur dared to reach down and grab John’s ass, chuckling softly as John yelped into the kiss in surprise.

“A nice, big house, Johnny,” he whispered. “Did you hear that part? Maybe we can have a bedroom to ourselves, hmm?”

John clung tighter to him and his breathing sped up a bit. “Y-yeah.”

“That’d be nice… a bedroom, some privacy.” Arthur hummed softly, he knew John was thinking along the same lines.

“You’re still teasin’ me, Arthur Morgan.”

“Can’t help it. You’re such fun to tease. Come on, let’s get back and see what Abby’s got for dinner.” 

—

In the morning they began the old, familiar process of packing up camp and loading the wagons, getting the horses hitched, cleaning up their garbage. Arthur had discussed the cover story with the newcomers and they had leapt right on it.

“Easy as pie, amigo. Me and Flaco are a pair of hired guns, New Austin is a dangerous place. Gotta have protection. Lyra, do your thing.” Chac winked at his protege.

Lyra disappeared into the trees and emerged a few minutes later now wearing a black dress, a black hat perched on her head and even jet mourning jewelry on, a nice touch. She scrunched up her face, partially hidden by a thick black veil, and wailed. “Oh, my darling Alphonse! Taken too soon! Whatever will I do! I can only rely on the kindness of my neighbors, the dear Callahans!” 

John burst out laughing, apparently over his jealousy. He pointed at her skirt. “You just happened to have a full set of widow’s weeds in your wagon?”

Lyra pulled up her veil and giggled. “This is an integral part of our occupation!”

Arthur had to chuckle himself. “Now I understand. The ‘lost rich widow’ Chac mentioned, hmm?”

“You bet,” Chac laughed. “Gets them every time.”

“Where in the world did you get a name like ‘Alphonse’?” Uncle asked. 

“Oh, I saw it in the paper in New York. A birth announcement. I thought it’d be a great name for my dearly departed husband.” Lyra climbed up on her wagon. “My poor dear,” she said dramatically. “Always loved a drink. In fact, it was the drink that killed him.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “He was run over by a beer wagon.”

There was a stunned silence, then the entire party cracked up. Arthur wiped a tear of mirth from his eyes and swung up into Buell’s saddle. It felt really good to have people to laugh with again, reminded him of the old days. When it was just himself, Hosea, Dutch, John, and Susan. They had sure laughed a lot then. Once everyone had control of themselves, he whistled. “Everyone ready?”

They were, and the wagons rolled out from under the shade of the willows and into the heat. Arthur adjusted his hat and rode alongside Chac at the head of the caravan. “I haven’t been this way in a few years. Still as hot as I remember, anything else change?”

“No. Well, except those Del Lobos Sirius mentioned.”

“I think I ran into them awhile back,” Arthur said, frowning. “I got tasked with finding the gunslinger Flaco Hernandez for a book… long story… but he had some Del Lobo boys with him.”

“They’re your typical gang.” Chac scratched at his beard. “Some revolutionaries who had to flee Mexico… a lot of killers, outlaws, and smugglers.” Chac lit a cigarette. “I don’t think they’ll give you folks much trouble, but it’s best to be cautious. They’re real vengeful. If I had a dime for every time a Del Lobo boy told me he was gonna get revenge on me, well, I wouldn’t have to be bounty huntin’ anymore.”

“Heh.” Arthur shook his head. “Seems you’ve lived an interesting life.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

—

As hot as the desert was in daytime, at night it was downright cold. Charles got a fire going and the outlaws huddled around it, Sadie roasting up strips of venison and cans of beans for everyone to share. Arthur liked to look up at the stars, seeing how vast the night sky was, hanging over their camp like dark-blue velvet scattered with diamonds. Jack climbed into his lap and Arthur pointed out the constellations to him. John leaned on Arthur and listened too. 

“It’s so quiet out here,” Abigail remarked, putting away the clean dishes. She stared out across the terrain, rubbing her elbows. “Almost… spooky. Makes a person feel… insignificant.”

“So does the sky,” Arthur admitted. Jack was falling asleep in his lap and he handed the boy up to his mother. “But it’s good when things are quiet. I’ve lived enough of a loud, busy existence and for once I’m glad to hear myself think.”

“Good for keeping an ear out for unusual sounds,” Charles said.

“Oh, I know.” Abigail was tucking Jack into a makeshift bed in the back of the wagon. Cain hobbled over and curled up under the wagon bed. “It’s silly of me, I just get to thinking all kinds of… well, foolish things.” She chuckled a little at her own fancies. “Ghosts and what have you.”

“There ain’t any ghosts out here, I don’t think,” John yawned.

“I saw one once,” Arthur remembered, and everyone turned to look at him. “In Bluewater Marsh. I was ridin’ hard, just wantin’ to get out of there before them Night Folk came lookin’ for me…. and I saw… well, I heard a woman cryin’… and then I saw her. Glowin’ green, cryin’ her little heart out. I called to her… dunno why. Asked “what’s yer name?” and she said “Agnes Dowd”. My horse was gettin’ skittish as hell, then the woman disappeared right in front of my eyes. I like to think I don’t scare easy, but… well, I don’t think I ever rode that fast in my life. Ranger was spooked out of his mind, good thing he knew the way back to Shady Belle because I couldn’t have stopped nor steered him the way he was runnin’.”

“Sweet mother,” Sirius cursed, as the others gaped open-mouthed at Arthur, who had never told this story before. 

“Wait, I think I remember that night,” John said. “I was on watch and you rode in like a bat outta hell, Ranger foaming and frothing. You threw his reins at Kieran and went straight upstairs, I thought that was odd ‘cause you usually take care of your horses yourself.”

“Yep.” Arthur nodded. “I went up to my room, sat myself down, and drank until I blacked out. Next mornin’, I had a hangover fit to kill me.”

Sadie smirked. “I remember, too. You nearly threw Bill across camp when he said somethin’ just a little too loud for your likin’. We all thought you’d been drinkin’ the fancy stuff down in Saint Denis, but looks like we were wrong.”

“Few days later I went out to the back of the house to look for crayfish… that gumbo Pearson cooked up with ‘em was pretty much the only good thing ‘bout Shady Belle. Cut through that old graveyard in back and felt like somebody invisible punched me in the gut. Girl named Agnes Dowd buried out there, died ‘bout six years before we arrived.”

“Holy shit,” John muttered.

“I dunno why I got so scared,” Arthur said slowly, thinking back on it. “I didn’t feel no malice comin’ from her… and it ain’t like I haven’t seen worse in my life. She was more… sad, than anythin’.”

The others considered this, until Uncle let out a chuckle. “Look at y’all, tellin’ ghost stories ‘round the fire like you was children.”

“Aw, quiet, old man,” John said, standing and stretching. “I’m hittin’ the hay.” He loped off to his and Arthur’s tent. The others drifted off to bed as well, except Arthur, who had first watch. He sat by the fire with his Lancaster next to him, looking up at the sky and thinking. 

Soft footsteps made him look around. It was Abigail, smoothing her skirts as she sat beside him. “Thought you was goin’ to bed.”

“I will. But I wanted to talk, first.” Abigail stared into the fire, a nervous laugh escaping her. “Well, truth be told, Sadie told me not to come to bed until I talked to you.”

Arthur smiled a little. “Did she now.”

“Yes… well, I suppose this conversation has been long overdue.” She looked up at him. “About you and John, and me. And Sadie too.”

“I guess it has.”

“I…. I knew, you know. Quite awhile ago. That John… well. After you and Javier brought him home… I’d sit with him. Hold his hand. Try and tell myself that maybe we could pull together, be a family. But I heard him say your name. In his sleep. I knew you were still angry with him for leaving, even though he’d been back for two years. But he… he never stopped hoping you’d like him again.” Abigail shook her head. “I’m making a mess of things.”

Arthur patted her hand. “No, you ain’t. Say your piece, Abby. I feel like it’s been kept inside too long.”

She twisted her hand in his, gripping his fingers. “I kept on hoping. Trying to make him pay attention to Jack. Then you all brought Sadie in and I started taking care of her too.”

Arthur nodded, he remembered how Abigail, the most out of any of them, would sit and talk quietly with Sadie in those days at Horseshoe Overlook. “In time, we started becoming friends… and when Jack was taken… she was suddenly the one comforting me. And I… we… started to fall in love.” Her eyes met his. “Or maybe it was even before then. But I told Sadie that John and I weren’t getting along. That he hadn’t touched me since I told him I was pregnant. And she told me that… well, she still loved Jake, would love him until she died. But that she loved me, too.”

“Then she told me she’d heard Micah talking about me. Said he’d said something about taking me as his woman since John wasn’t stepping up.” Abigail shuddered. “You’d heard him yourself talking to Jack like he was his father. Nasty things he used to say, too.”

“I remember,” Arthur gritted his teeth.

“That scared me. But then… you and John and Dutch brought my boy back to me. My sweet boy. Arthur, I don’t think I can ever tell you how much that meant to me. And John… he took me aside. Told me we needed to talk. And talk we did, up in that old musty mansion. Jack was asleep and John and I talked to each other in a way we hadn’t for years. He told me he loved you. I told him I loved Sadie. And he said the same thing Sadie did, that Micah was interested in me. So he asked if Jack and I would stay with him, in his room. Said if we started acting like a proper family, Micah'd leave me alone… And I won’t lie to you. We knew neither of us could be with the ones we wanted, not while the world was crashing down around us. We, well…”

“You don’t have to say it.” Arthur squeezed her hand. “If it brought you both some comfort, it’s okay. And if it kept Micah away, even better. You think I’d be jealous? All I saw was John finally steppin’ up to take care of his family. I knew that was for the best and I accepted it. I didn’t see… I was so distracted, I didn’t see how close you and Sadie were getting.”

“I know. We were worried about you. The whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it seemed, and then you started looking sick on top of it all. Dutch lost his mind and we all ended up running.” Her gaze hardened. “Like rats abandoning a sinking ship.”

“Naw. Abigail, look at me.” Arthur took her other hand. “You didn’t abandon anythin'. I told you to run. I told John to run. Just knowin’ that you got away and could make a new life together… that was all I wanted. I could’ve died peacefully then. I kissed John, knew it was the last chance I’d ever get to show him how I felt. Then I told him to go, to never look back. Never thought I’d get a second chance… never thought he’d want me.” He looked sad. “Mary didn’t want me, unless it was to do somethin' for her. I realize that now. When we were younger… well, there was a chance. But then she broke it off with me, said I’d never get out of the life. You didn’t know me then, Abigail, and I’m glad you didn’t, because that man was a sorry sight afterwards. Drinkin’, fightin’, mad at the world. Gave John shit for it when all he was tryin’ to do was make me feel better. I thought… well, when I started gettin’ letters from her again I thought I still loved her. Played the white knight and rescued her brother. I don’t regret it, by the way, Jaime didn’t know what he was gettin’ into. But then… she asked me to help her father. Her father, of all people. The man who had hated me, insulted me, was always tellin’ me I was a sack of shit and could never be worthy of his darlin' daughter.”

“How awful,” Abigail whispered.

“That was when I knew. Mary wasn’t in love with me no more. She just saw me as… I don’t know, the same way Dutch did, I guess. A tool. Someone to do some threatenin’ and blusterin’ and make things the way they wanted. So I told her no. Told her I was tired of bein’ used, that I had to look out for those that really cared for me. She tried to protest, tried to keep me there, but I knew it had to be over. For her sake as much as mine.” Arthur didn’t mention the hurt he’d still felt when he’d opened Mary’s last letter to find the ring he’d once given her inside. “I decided then and there that there weren’t nobody for me. Eliza died. Mary was a fraud. John had you. It hurt, but then I found out I had TB. Figured if I was gonna die, it was for the best. But y’all… y’all were the ones that really cared. You and John, Charles, Sadie… the only ones left who, well… loved me.”

“You’re a good man, Arthur,” Abigail insisted. “And we do love you. We’re family. And John… he’s always loved you most of all. He was so lost after he joined us at Copperhead Landing… nearly went crazy when he got that letter from Miss Lyra. Would’ve charged right into town without a thought if we hadn’t held him back. And it’s okay, Arthur. How you feel about him, how he feels about you… I just want him to be a good father to Jack. That’s all I want.”

“He’s been gettin’ better.”

“He has, and I think it’s your influence. Just the other day h-”

A twig cracked. Arthur pressed his finger to Abigail’s lips, her eyes widening in fear. Reaching for his gun, Arthur crept away from camp, listening hard. He glanced back at Abby, who was sitting motionless by the fire, watching him. Another twig cracked. Hoofbeats, but slow. Arthur waited, holding his breath, his finger on the trigger. A shape came toward him out of the darkness and as it came close enough, he realized it was a very familiar horse. A grey-and-white American Paint. Slumped over in its saddle was a man, barely conscious. The horse nickered softly and stopped beside Taima and Bob, and Arthur hurried over. 

“Abigail! I need help!” 

She hurried over as the man groaned, raising his head. In the firelight they could see dried blood on his face. “Uhh… Arthur? Is that really you?”

_“Javier?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve already made a couple of errors (like why did I have Arthur buy a horse in Strawberry when Buell was RIGHT THERE? pretend Strawberry has 2 stables, ok), sorry about that. I’ll try to be more vigilant in the future!
> 
> I know a lot of people don’t like OCs in fics but I promise mine won’t show up too often, they’re just helping Arthur and the gang.
> 
> Al Capone, whose real name was Alphonse, was born in 1899. I snatched up his name for Lyra’s imaginary husband. Alphonse’s “death”, of course, was a joke taken from ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an honest-to-goodness sex scene in this chapter!!

****

**Chapter 4**

“We need some help out here!” Arthur yelled, but he needn’t have bothered; the others were already struggling out of their tents. “Light, I need light,” Arthur instructed, lifting Javier off Boaz and carrying him near the fire. Abigail spread out a blanket and Charles and Sadie lit lanterns. Arthur laid Javier down and looked him over.

“He’s got a nasty bump and a gash on his head… maybe a couple’a bumps. Somebody get me some water. The medicine chest.”

Charles knelt by Arthur as the others ran to get what was needed. “What’s he doing here?” he asked quietly.

“Don’t know. Abby and I were talkin’ and I heard a noise. Went to investigate and Boaz came up with Javier slumped over on his back.”

With a nod, Charles stood and grabbed his rifle, leaving the ring of firelight to look for signs of any other intruders. John brought the water and Arthur carefully cleaned the blood from the wound, which was shallow but ugly, flakes of what looked like tree bark clinging to it. Chac pressed a bowl of paste into his hands. “Yarrow and ginseng. Put that on it before bandaging him up.”

For a little while, the camp was quiet as Arthur and John, joined by Sadie, tended to Javier and checked him over for any other wounds. He was badly bruised in places, and his arms and face bore shallow scratches that looked as if he’d ridden through dense shrubbery, but he wasn’t bleeding anywhere else or had any broken bones, as far as they could tell. The sky was lightening by the time Charles returned and told them he couldn’t find tracks of any kind except Boaz’s. 

“He wake up yet?” 

“Not yet.” Arthur bit his lip, looking down at Javier. How had he found them? What would he do when he woke up? The last time they’d seen each other, Javier had been standing behind Dutch in Beaver Hollow… not pointing his gun at Arthur as Micah and Dutch had, but … He’d refused to leave Dutch’s side, had been asking Arthur for days why “loyalty” was no longer important. When the Pinkertons arrived and Arthur and John had fled into the caves, Micah and Dutch in close pursuit, they’d lost track of Javier. At that point, Arthur had given him up as lost. Either the Pinkertons would get him, or Javier would meet back up with Dutch and carry on. In all honesty, Arthur was much more concerned with getting John to safety than worrying about what Javier was going to do. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Sadie asked angrily. “We can’t stay here tendin’ to a wounded man, we’ll lose days of travel. And if he’s still with Dutch…”

“We can’t leave him to die, neither,” Arthur said. 

“He betrayed us,” John said, but there was sorrow in his voice. He’d always liked Javier, had been indebted to him for helping Arthur save his life. The younger man was obviously struggling between anger and sadness. “Sure, he helped rescue me from the wolves, but… then he left me after the train robbery, went with Dutch. Pretended I was dead.”

“We can’t take the chance that somebody might come lookin’ for him,” Sadie hissed at Arthur. “For all we know, he joined right back up with Dutch and Micah once the heat died down a bit.”

Arthur was torn. Sadie had a point, and he himself had felt betrayed by a man he’d once considered a friend. But to leave Javier in the desert, not knowing if he’d regain consciousness….

“Look through his things,” he muttered, delaying their decision. Charles fetched his saddlebags. There wasn’t much in them - a tin of crackers, a near-empty box of bullets, a few dollars in change, a scuffed old tin of pomade, Javier’s rosary. This last Lyra scooped up and placed in Javier’s hand, draping the chain around his wrist.

“What’d you do that for?” Arthur asked her curiously.

“If he’s a Catholic, he should have it with him,” she said softly. “Just…. for comfort.”

Sadie looked pointedly at the rising sun. “Well, Arthur? What are we gonna do with him? If we want to get to this safehouse, we’ve got to move. I don’t like how open this country is.”

Arthur stared down at Javier, struggling to think. What should they do? Would he try to run when he awoke? Would he stay? Could they trust him?

“We can’t leave him here.” he said slowly. “Leavin’ an injured man, unconscious, in the desert… it’d be a free meal for the coyotes. We’ll take him with us. At least until he wakes. Then we’ll see why he’s here. If we can’t trust him, we’ll blindfold him, take him to the nearest town, and leave him.”

The group let out a collective sigh as if they’d all been holding their breaths. After that, they got busy, tearing down camp and packing up. John and Charles moved some of their supplies to Lyra’s wagon, and Abigail made up a bed for Javier in the back of theirs. Nobody even thought of breakfast besides a few swigs of water from the canteens, and they were gone before the sun even fully rose. Arthur rode with Chac at the head of the line again, the wagons behind them, and Sirius and Charles at the rear with their rifles, watching for danger and leading the extra horses.

“He’s a friend of yours?” Chac asked quietly.

“Thought he was.” Arthur grimaced. “When everythin’ went to hell, he didn’t try to shoot us like the others did, but he wouldn’t leave Dutch, neither. I don’t know if he’s just foolish or goddamned blind. When the gang fell apart, it was pretty obvious Dutch was losin’ it. Some were smart enough to see it and ran, even old Uncle. But Javier kept beggin’ us to remember loyalty, and brotherhood.” He swore softly. “I know we sound like rats. But if you’d been there, seen things…”

“I’m not judging,” Chac said.

“I used to believe in Dutch. Used to trust him. He raised me and John, along with Hosea. But I started realizin’… he didn’t have all the answers. Didn’t have a plan. And I saw him throw John to the wolves… twice. And… me, too. Left me for dead once and if it hadn’t been for a friend of mine named Eagle Flies…. well. And when we confronted him about those things, he had no excuses. Just his old mantra. _‘Have some faith. Have a little faith’_.” Arthur glumly stroked Buell’s mane. “A little faith, yeah. Faith he was gonna get us all killed.”

“Dutch turned out to be a snake,” John said hoarsely, and Arthur looked up in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed John ride up beside them on Bucephalus. “He told you all I was dead, when he just couldn’t be bothered to come back for me. We wanted what he’d promised us, a chance to live free. And we’re doin’ it now. Forget about him, Arthur.”

“You’re right,” Arthur said after a long beat of silence. “We’ve got other things to worry about now. Javier wake up yet?”

“Still out cold. Whoever or whatever hit him did a damn good job.” John hesitated. “He… he might not make it, Arthur.”

“If he don’t…” Arthur sighed heavily. “If he don’t, we’ll give him a decent burial. Same as any other member of the gang. We was friends once, we can at least do that for him.”

—

The days passed in a haze of heat. The roads were nearly deserted, the caravan passing only a few riders who gave a polite “howdy” and tipped their hats respectfully to Lyra, who rode on her wagon beside Sirius, pretending to weep softly behind her veil. Arthur had to bite back a grin, having a “grieving widow” with the group was definitely going to be a plus.

Javier drifted to semi-consciousness once or twice, but when they tried to talk to him he only mumbled in slurred Spanish and drifted off again. Chac translated, but it was just random words, nothing with any meaning. A few names. Dutch’s, mostly, but a woman’s once or twice.

Late in the afternoon of the third day, Chac told Arthur they were close. Arthur called a halt. 

“Okay. Chac says the house is nearby. He and I are gonna go check it out, make sure everything looks clear. John, you’re with me. Rest of you, stay alert, keep an eye out. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

The trio trotted off briskly, and about a half-mile down the road Chac turned down a wide path, which turned out to be the old ranch’s driveway. Guns out, the men approached the house slowly and dismounted.

“Hello!” Arthur called. They waited, but there was no sound other than the wind. “Hello?”

Still nothing. John crept up to the door, pushing it open with the muzzle of his Remington. “Anyone here?” Still no response, and they stepped inside. It was a large house, and they searched through it quickly and carefully. Whoever had lived here last had left in a hurry, and Chac shook his head as they regrouped in the great room. 

“Nothin’ but the furniture. Heck, upstairs the only sign of life is an old footprint in the dust that belongs to Flaco.”

“Let’s search outside,” Arthur said, and that yielded the same results. The barn, the shed, the tiny boathouse - all empty. “Okay,” he said at long last. “We might as well get everyone in before nightfall. Chac, go back and tell ‘em to move.”

“Si, amigo.” Chac loped outside and mounted his donkey, galloping off. John and Arthur dug around and found lanterns in the cabinet with some oil left, and got them lit.

“What do you think?” Arthur asked John.

“Seems safe. It ain’t fallin’ apart like Shady Belle. Room enough, good-sized barn for all the horses. Like you said before, havin’ the San Luis at our back lessens the chance of anyone sneakin’ up on us. I think we can make a go of it here, at least for a little while.”

“Me too,” Arthur agreed. He put an arm around John, who smiled. 

“Seducin’ me, Morgan?”

“Didn’t think you knew a word like ‘seducin’’,” Arthur chuckled, but he brushed a kiss across John’s cheek. “Plenty of bedrooms, like I thought,” he said nonchalantly. 

“Sure are.” John smirked up at him. “Beds, too. Maybe we can send the ladies out to get some linen. We got the money.”

“Never thought I’d sleep in a real bed with real linen that weren’t in a hotel,” Arthur mumbled, kissing John’s neck. “With somebody I love.”

“Don’t be goin’ soft on me, old man,” John teased, but trailed his fingers up Arthur’s spine and then into his hair. “Sounds real nice, though.”

They pulled apart as they heard the wagons rattle up, and went outside to help. Javier was moved into a bedroom on the first floor, where it’d be easier to tend to him. He still hadn’t awakened, and Arthur again wondered how he’d gotten injured. 

The next few hours passed quickly as the gang got down to cleaning and unpacking, choosing bedrooms. Arthur and John took one on the first floor, next to the one they’d placed Javier in; Lyra preferred to set her cot in the small pantry off the kitchen; the others took the three upstairs bedrooms. The house seemed unbelievably large after so many years of living in tents, but Arthur supposed it wasn’t too far off from a “proper” family home for someone with a busy ranch and a large family.

Arthur and Charles went out to the barn and broke open the hay bales in the corner, making the stalls comfortable for the horses and then leading the animals in one by one to be brushed and put into a stall. They had quite a herd between them - Buell, Bucephalus, Nell III, Bob, Taima, Boaz, Chac’s donkey (inexplicably named “Bonkey”), Sirius’ huge Percheron Nightmane, Lyra’s sweet Lady, and the two sturdy shires Lyra called “Penny and Benny”. 

Arthur leaned on his pitchfork. “Bucephalus and John are gettin’ on well, might just let John keep him. I know he misses Old Boy.”

“That’s a good idea,” Charles said, wiping sweat from his brow. “This is a nice place your friends found. Lots of room and it seems secure, for now.”

“Abby’s been talkin’ about a ranch,” Arthur said. “John don’t seem disinclined, and neither am I. Maybe we could make this a more permanent home, down the line.”

“That’d be a-” Charles was cut off as Abigail ran into the barn. 

“Arthur! Charles! Come quick, Javier’s awake!”

He was sitting up in bed when the trio returned to the house, looking woozy, his eyes on the pistol Sadie was pointing at him.

“Sadie, put that down!” 

“Not until we find out how he found us,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Arthur,” Javier said, sounding relieved. “Am I glad to see you… I thought for sure you and John were dead.”

“I very nearly was,” Arthur said. Anger rose in him, and he fought it back. “Would’ve been if not for these fine folks. But the real question is, Javier, what are you doing here?”

Javier coughed. Abigail handed him a cup of water and he accepted it gratefully. “You took me in,” he said, not answering the question. 

“We did. You were in a sorry state.”

“Still feel like I am,” Javier winced, lightly touching the bandages wound around his head. “But you look good, amigo,” he said to Arthur. “Last time I saw you, you looked on the verge of death.”

“I was. As Micah and you yourself reminded me so many times.” Arthur crossed his arms. “And last time I saw you, you was standin’ behind Dutch like his ‘plan’ still made sense, like he hadn’t turned into a goddamn lunatic.”

With a sigh, Javier put down his cup. “Yeah. Guess I was.” He dragged a hand down his unshaven cheek. 

“So I’ll ask again. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know!” Javier burst out. “The only thing I remember is getting on Boaz and trying to run. Goddamned Bill hit me hard, I barely stayed up.”

“Bill? Was he with you?” John asked.

“For a little while, yeah. We saw something… well, a side of Dutch we hadn’t before. The Pinkertons were coming and we all ran into the caves. Bill and me, we thought it was to hide… fight back… something. But Dutch… he just kept on running…. screaming about money and faith… then Micah yelled something about… betrayal, cowardice. And Dutch agreed. _‘Those boys aren’t my sons anymore,’_ he said. I heard him loud and clear.” Javier looked distressed. “He and Micah kept chasing after you. Bill and me… well, we weren’t sure what to do. The Pinkertons wouldn’t come in the caves. They’d gone around, hoping to head Dutch off. We followed Dutch outside, but he was out of sight already. Micah and the Pinkertons too. Bill looked at me and said _‘Morgan was right. This is the end.’_” He shifted. 

“We took off. Had our horses and what was on ‘em, not much. I told Bill our best bet was to go south, the last place the Pinkertons would expect. New Austin, or maybe we could scrape enough money to get on a boat to South America. I couldn’t go back to Mexico, but Bill thought he might. We made it almost to Armadillo. Then we got into a fight. Bill was drinking, as usual… I don’t remember what started it, something stupid, but I got tired of him calling me a ‘greaser’ and told him to shut up. That’s when we started punching, and after a few minutes I broke loose and ran. Got on Boaz, turned back to yell at him some more, and he threw his bottle at me. Mierda, that hurt! Nearly went down then but kept my saddle long enough to get out of there. Rode hard all night and slept in a ditch during the day. I was still feeling woozy from the hit Bill gave me, and then… well, bounty hunters found me. I shot three and then my gun jammed. I had to run. I lost them, too, but I wasn’t looking where I was going. Came up on a tree and had no time to duck. Son of a bitch, I hit the lowest branch hard. I must’ve blacked out, or something. I don’t remember anything between now and then.”

“So Micah didn’t send you?” Arthur asked roughly. 

“Micah? No! I wouldn’t do a thing that rat told me.” Javier’s lip curled in disgust. 

“Or Dutch?” Charles asked.

Javier sighed, looking grim. “Not any more, amigo. I’ve been thinking on it since the last night in Beaver’s Hollow. Arthur was right. Dutch was losing his mind, and I was too stupid or stubborn to see it. But… he kept me safe. Kept us safe. For so many years. It was hard… hard to see him like that.”

“I know,” Arthur said. Hearing that Dutch had disowned him and John cut deep. Dutch and Hosea had been like fathers to both of them, and to be disregarded so casually over money… and Micah… was something Arthur would never understand. But he had no time to dwell on it now. “Tell me somethin’, Javier. Dutch didn’t send you, Micah didn’t send you… was you followed? Seen any Pinkertons? Before you got knocked out, I mean.”

“No.” Javier took another cup of water gratefully. “Once we crossed into New Austin, Bill and I were just about the only people around. Last person I saw was back near MacFarlane’s, some old woman on a burro. No one since then, but I can’t guarantee no one saw me while I was knocked out.”

“Well, then.” Arthur sighed heavily. “What is it you want, Javier? Us, we just want to live quiet, go straight. So is that what you want to do? Or do you want to strike out on your own? And if you do, how are we to know you won’t betray us again? Give us up to the law, Dutch, whoever? We already know Micah’s got some goddamn scheme to hunt us down. If he does, you gonna stand with us, or chicken out again?”

By the look on Javier’s face, he could see his words were hurting the other man, but he didn’t care right then. No, his priority now was to keep the little group safe.

“What will you do if I say no?” Javier asked lowly. “Kill me?”

“I don’t know about Arthur, but I just might,” Sadie growled. Her pistol had never wavered during the entire conversation, still pointed directly at Javier’s forehead.

“There’s been enough killin’,” Arthur said tiredly. “You don’t wanna stay, Javier, that’s all well and good. But you know we can’t just let you go, we’d have to blindfold you and leave you someplace. Don’t want you tellin’ anyone where we are… or that I’m alive. Law thinks I’m dead, and I aim to keep it that way.”

“Then why did you help me?” Javier shot back. “If you’re so worried about me betraying you, why did you even bother taking me in?”

“Wouldn’t have left you as coyote food,” Arthur said. “And it weren’t like we bumped into you on purpose. We was camping and Boaz showed up with you on his back. Can’t blame a dumb animal for catchin’ familiar scents and followin’.”

With a heavy sigh, the Mexican leaned back into the pillow, closing his eyes. Sadie’s pistol followed him. “Mierda… you’re tough, Arthur. I’ll be honest with you. Living free, like Dutch promised… that’d be nice. Real nice. I know I’ve done you wrong in the past… all of you. Don’t expect you to start treating me like a brother again… I just want to rest. Have some time to think without somebody insulting me, without fighting, without the law or bounty hunters on my trail. If I can make things up to you, I will. If you’ll have me, I’ll stay. If you don’t want me, I’ll ride out as soon as I feel better. Blindfolded and all if that’s what you want.”

Arthur sighed, looking at the others. Sadie was still furious. John was biting his lip, staring at the floor and looking deep in thought. Charles’ arms were crossed, his lips pressed in a thin line. Abigail looked distressed, refilling Javier’s cup and glancing at all of them in turn. Even old Uncle looked like he was thinking hard. 

“Get some rest, Javier. Sirius, you mind guardin’ him? Just for awhile.”

“No problem.” The tall native drew his pistol and leaned beside the door, the others filing out. Lyra and Chac drifted off, having no say in the conversation, taking Jack with them. The remnants of Dutch’s gang went outside and grouped together at a distance from the house, huddling together in the falling darkness to talk.

“I still don’t trust him,” Sadie said flatly, her arm around Abigail, who looked sad. “He was a real asshole towards the end.”

“John?” Arthur asked.

“I’m angry at him, too. He was standin’ by Micah, saw Dutch leave me by the tracks and not only left me too, but never said nothin’ about me really bein’ alive. But still… Javier was always a decent enough person, before that. He helped you bring me home. He helped us look for Jack. Did his best to cheer us up with his singin' when we were down. It hurts, you know.”

“I do know,” Arthur said softly. “Charles?”

The big man sighed. “I feel like John. I’m angry for the mistakes Javier made, but I can remember the good times, too. I think… well, I think we should at least let him recover here.”

“Okay.” Arthur took a deep breath. “Then that’s what we’ll do. If we gotta guard him, we will. And not _one word_ to him about Dutch’s stash. Not until we’re sure we can trust him.”

They all nodded, even Uncle, who in the past would have called Arthur “a sour, mistrustin’ son of a bitch” but now seemed to realize the danger. 

“Okay. Let’s go back. S’cold out here.”

—

A few weeks passed. The safehouse became a home, its inhabitants sharing chores and watches. Arthur found himself tired at the end of each day but happy, his exhaustion from hard work rather than stress and sickness. He and John had gone out and caught a few wild goats, which were easily tamed with the food and water back at the ranch, and now the family had goats’ milk to drink. Charles and Sadie had started a little garden. Abigail lured in a clutch of prairie chickens and John and Jack built a coop for them. Uncle was his usual lazy self. Chac and Sirius hunted a few bounties, while Lyra preferred to stay at the ranch and help out. Cain recovered from his injury and proved himself to be both a good guarding and herding dog, on top of being Jack’s beloved companion.

Javier was able to get out of bed by their fourth day there. The nasty gash on his head remained bandaged, but he took the time to bathe and shave and otherwise restore himself to the well-presented man he had been at least until the gang had reached Beaver Hollow. Javier spent a lot of time sitting by the river, staring out at it and seemingly lost in thought. Arthur let him be, knowing he probably had a lot on his mind. 

The nearby town of Armadillo was a good, close source of supplies and news. Sirius, Chac, and Lyra, sometimes with Sadie and Abigail, were able to go in to shop. They got the linens John had mentioned and quite a few other things besides. A couple books and toys for Jack, some treats to go with supper. Little things, inexpensive but enough to brighten the mood. It was Chac who came in one afternoon with a beautiful guitar, bought with his own money, and presented it to Javier.

“For you, amigo.” 

Javier’s eyes widened and his fingers ran lightly over the gleaming wood, plucking at the strings. He seemed amazed at the generosity, and also happier. He played a couple of notes and Arthur was suddenly back in Horseshoe Overlook, listening to Javier play and sing as the others danced, remembered Mary-Beth asking for a dance and Karen too. He shook his head quickly and looked around. Chac had brought out his own guitar and together the two men played a song. 

“Music tames the savage beast,” Lyra quoted softly behind Arthur, who looked over his shoulder questioningly at her. She only patted his arm and drifted off.

And somehow, that music, Chac’s kind action, had become very significant to the group as a whole. Javier seemed lighter in his mind, more at ease. The others had by no means forgotten what had happened but were slowly drawn to their friend once more. 

“Arthur.” Javier called to him one morning. “Want to come fishing with me?”

Arthur considered. Fresh fried fish would be excellent for lunch, and the San Luis was fairly teeming. “Sure, why not.”

Together they shouldered their poles and headed down to the river, settling in the shade and casting out their lines. Almost immediately they had two nice steelheads for the creel.

“It’s a good spot.” Arthur said. 

“It is.” Javier took a deep breath. “Arthur, I’m sorry. For everything.” He looked out at the bobber floating gently on the surface of the water. “When everything started to go wrong… well, I clung to the idea that Dutch was right, that he had a plan and would see us through. How could I not? He’d risked his life to rescue me from Hussar’s men on Guarma. But you did too, Arthur. You were there, shooting back while Dutch carried me. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot these days. I didn’t want to think, to see that the man I’d looked up to for so long… the man who’d saved my life… was wrong. And it was wrong, the way I treated you. You were sick, dying. I see that now. And here we all were, heaping everything on top of you.”

“I did plenty of it to myself,” Arthur said evenly, but Javier shook his head.

“No. Even before you got sick. For years… you’ve been the backbone of the camp. Food running low? You’d go out hunting. Dutch says we need some more money? You’d be out there before any of us. So when you started doubting Dutch, it turned everything on end. Well, I guess it already was, and not by your fault. I should have seen it sooner. You were like Hosea, always urging caution. And Dutch didn’t listen. I didn’t listen. And by the time I realized what a mistake it all was, everyone was gone. Just me and Bill left, and look how that turned out.” Javier gingerly touched the scar left from his injury. “I kept talking to you about loyalty, but there I was, turning my back on you and John, who had always treated me like a brother.”

Arthur sighed heavily. “I just wanted to get him out, Javier. John had a chance. And Jack, all the women… they didn’t deserve to get hurt or killed because we’d all made a mistake. I could have included you in the plans. But I was so concerned with the others… didn’t give a thought to the fact maybe it weren’t just the women that needed help.” He looked down. “I thought I was gonna die. Very nearly did, between the TB and the beatin’ Micah gave me.”

Javier let out an angry noise of surprise. 

“But I got a second chance.” Arthur hadn’t discussed the miracle of his recovery with Javier, wasn’t sure if anyone else had. “And I wanna put things right. Do right by the people who matter to me the most… and try to make up for all the bad I’ve done in my life.”

“I understand,” Javier said softly. “And it’s been real nice, staying here with you all. I thought about leavin’, but… I like being here. There’s something that reminds me of the old days. Before Beaver Hollow, before Pinkertons and Blackwater and even before Micah. And like you, I’ve got some atoning to do.” He took a deep breath. “And I know you said Micah’s looking for you. This time, you’ll have my help.”

“Even if he shows up with Dutch?” Arthur couldn’t help asking.

“Even then.” Javier met Arthur’s eyes and the gunslinger could see the truth reflected there. “I’m done with him.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, not knowing why he was thanking Javier but knowing the words felt right.

“You’re wel- hey! Watch out!” Arthur’s pole was dipping, and he struggled with the fish, finally bringing in a large bass that would make a great meal. 

—

That night, the family gathered outside to roast fish over the fire. At some point Chac brought out his guitar and urged Javier to do the same, and before long they were playing all the old songs Arthur and the others remembered. Uncle brought out some bottles and for a few hours, the gang let their defenses down. 

Chac and Javier sang together, their voices and guitars melding in a lovely harmony. The others swayed and clapped in their seats, singing along. Arthur smiled to see everyone so happy, leaning against the wall of the house to watch. Sadie jumped to her feet and took Abigail’s hand, pulling her up into a dance. Abigail laughed and spun as Sadie twirled her, loose strands of hair coming undone from her bun to float around her face.

John came over to lean on the wall beside Arthur. “They make a good couple.”

“They do.” Arthur kept watching as Lyra and Sirius began to dance as well, the comical difference between their heights making everyone laugh. “It’s good. All of us together like this. Like the old days.”

“Yeah.” John remembered being thirteen years old and perched on a tree stump, watching Dutch, Susan, Hosea, and Arthur playing poker. Laughing along with the four adults as Susan, perched on Dutch’s knee, scolded him for peeking at her cards. He remembered standing with Bessie, one arm around her plump waist and his other hand in hers, staring at their feet as Dutch’s gramophone played and Hosea counted out the steps. He’d been miserable at dancing but Bessie had persisted, Arthur grinning the whole time until Susan had said _“and now you, young Mr. Morgan,”_ tugging Arthur to dance with her as Hosea and Dutch watched with big grins. Remembered how he and Arthur had complained and Dutch had only waved it off, telling them that even outlaws needed to learn to dance.

John glanced up at Arthur and saw the twinkle in his eye. “Remember when Bessie and Susan tried to give us dancin’ lessons?” Arthur asked. “Boy, was we terrible at it.”

“I was just thinkin' about that,” John grinned. “I’ll always have two left feet, but you got pretty good at it as I recall.”

Arthur ducked his head bashfully. “Aw.” 

John smiled. “Come here.” He took Arthur’s hand, his arm slipping around Arthur’s waist. They swayed to the music for awhile, clumsy but laughing, Arthur resting his head against John’s neck. 

“Johnny?” He was nervous about what he was going to suggest. But he felt ready, and he thought John was, too.

“Yeah?”

Arthur gave a small tilt of his head toward the house, and John’s heartbeat sped up. They both glanced over at their friends, who were singing along to a bawdy song Javier was playing. Jack was fast asleep at his mother’s feet, using Cain as a pillow. No one noticed as they slipped away through the darkness to their bedroom.

John lit a single candle, just enough for them to see each other. Arthur closed the door firmly, the soft click of the lock driving the idea home that this was really happening. John turned to the older man, who crossed the room to embrace him. Their lips met, soft at first but growing more insistent. This was something they’d both wanted for quite awhile, and Arthur wouldn’t lie, he’d dreamed of it once or twice over the long years, chastising himself for it later but enjoying the fantasy in the moment. And now it was reality, John’s hands pushing off his suspenders then moving to unbutton Arthur’s shirt and slip it off, Arthur doing the same to him. Their bare chests pressed together sent a pleasurable shiver through them both. Arthur clung to John, his big hands stroking his boy’s back as John rested his cheek against Arthur’s shoulder. He kissed at Arthur’s neck, rolling his hips to let Arthur feel his erection. 

“Darlin'…”

“Shh.” John kissed him, his hands traveling downward. Arthur’s gunbelt fell to the floor. John’s joined it. Boots kicked off, socks thrown aside, pants and suspenders gone in a flurry of passion. They fell onto the bed clad only in their drawers, John tugging Arthur down on top of him. The thin flannels did nothing to disguise their growing hardness.

“Arthur…”

“John?”

“Take ‘em off?” In the dim candlelight Arthur could see his lover blushing, could feel his own face heating up. 

“Yours or mine first?”

“Don’t care.” John felt Arthur’s hands on his thighs and let out a soft moan. Arthur dared to lean down and nuzzle at the bulge between John’s legs, breathing hotly on it, mouthing softly at the cloth.

“Jesus!” John gasped roughly. His fingers buried themselves in Arthur’s hair. “Art-”

The needful little whine in his voice encouraged Arthur, and he peeled the flannels down John’s hips and off his legs, tossing them aside. His mouth watered as he took in the sight of John’s manhood, flushed and heavy. Before he even realized what he was doing he was bending over, his tongue licking a hot stripe along the length, John’s hips giving an involuntary buck. 

“God, Arthur!” His lover moaned hoarsely. His hands gripped Arthur’s shoulders, and was John actually trembling? He was. 

Arthur looked up at him, his breath catching at the desire in John's eyes. He was gorgeous, biting at his lower lip as he watched Arthur. The older man finally removed his own drawers, John letting out a shuddering breath as he took in the sight. They'd seen each other naked before, camp living afforded them very little privacy, but never had it been like this… both of them hard and aching for the other, unashamed of their nudity as they gazed at each other. 

"Art…" John breathed. "God, you're beautiful."

"So are you." Arthur blushed again, moving up John's body to lay atop him, the two men embracing. They both let out pleasured groans as their lengths ground together. The feel of John's skin against his made Arthur's head spin, and he couldn't help from kissing down his lover's neck, nuzzling and nipping. John's hands moved over his back and down to his ass, pulling him closer. Arthur groaned softly.

"What do you want, Johnny?" he whispered.

"Just... just like this… please… " John's hips pushed against his, sending another jolt of pleasure between them. Arthur shuddered and spit in his hand, bringing his hand down to stroke John. The cry that came from the other's throat was beautiful to the outlaw.

"My bag," John panted in his ear. "Got some pomade..."

Arthur hated to leave the embrace but got up to dig through John's satchel, finding the tin and bringing it back to bed. The scent of pine wafted out as he pried off the lid. He scooped out a dollop and rubbed it between his fingers, warming it. John did the same, and soon they were stroking each other, their breathing speeding up.

"John...!" His boy's fingers teased him until his head was swimming. The moans coming from John's throat were just as good, and Arthur had to kiss him, groaning into his mouth. He let go of John's erection to caress his slim hips and wiry chest. John's hands left Arthur's cock to bury themselves in his soft hair, and Arthur moved against John easily, the pomade making their lengths slide easily and pleasurably together.

"Ohh, Arthur!" John panted in his ear, shivering with pleasure. 

"You feel good, Johnny," Arthur cooed to him. "So good, darlin'."

"Ah, Jesus!" John clung to him, his hips bucking under Arthur's. They kissed hotly, and Arthur felt himself drawing ever closer to the breaking point. He shuddered and moved faster against John, who swore.

"Art, I'm gonna…!"

"Me too, sweet. I'm so close. Let me hear you."

"Shit!! Arthur!!" John grasped at Arthur's shoulders hard enough to bruise, his bucking becoming more erratic until he shouted, his hips jerking up hard. Arthur felt John's release spill between them and groaned heavily, letting his own orgasm overtake him and adding to the spend coating their bellies. John clung to him, panting quickly. Arthur nuzzled his neck, burying his face in the stringy black hair, whispering words of love in his boy's ear, not even knowing what he was saying but wanting John to know how much he loved him, how much he loved holding him.

After a few minutes, once their breathing had eased and their heartbeats slowed, Arthur rose. John made a soft sound of protest and reached for him.

"Hold on, sweet." Arthur went to the washbasin in the corner and dipped a cloth in the lukewarm water, then cleaned John lovingly before wiping the spend off his own body. "There you go."

"You talk to me like I'm a damn horse," John said, but he was smiling, snuggling close to Arthur as the blonde outlaw rejoined him, drawing the sheet over their bare bodies. John rested his head on Arthur's chest, listening to his heartbeat. To think they'd so nearly lost this chance…. 

"I love you," he whispered.

A long sigh escaped Arthur, and John peered up at him, nervous. But his lover smiled down at him. "I love you, too. Damn. It feels so good to say that."

John chuckled softly. "Always knew you were a big old softie, Morgan, despite you trying so hard to prove otherwise."

Arthur laughed softly, kissing John's forehead. They lay together, content and quiet. After a few minutes Arthur heard footsteps and doors opening and closing as the others drifted in from outside and retired to their own beds. John was asleep, his arm around Arthur's waist. Feeling more secure and happy than he had in a very, very long time, Arthur drifted off as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNDERWEAR. According to MentalFloss: _“From Victorian times into the 1930s, men had mostly worn tight-fitting knee-length flannel "drawers" beneath their pants and donned similarly snug flannel tops as undershirts.”_ ( [ link](https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/22897/boxers-briefs-or-loincloth-brief-history-mens-underwear) ) Arthur and John wear one-piece union suits in-game as underwear, but in the desert that sounds too goddamn hot, so the “drawers” I referred to in the sex scene are the knee-length pants mentioned above. Think of them as summer underwear?
> 
> Speaking of the sex scene: I suck at writing these. I really do. Apologies.
> 
> The Armadillo cholera epidemic won’t happen until 1907, so right now it’s a safe place for the gang to go for supplies and whatnot. I kind of merged the events of 1899 and 1907 here, but didn’t want cholera on top of all the other problems!!
> 
> Did I derail the first game by trying to redeem Javier??? I dunno, I haven't played it yet.

**Author's Note:**

> In 1899 there was no cure for tuberculosis. A vaccine was not invented until 1921, and a cure until 1949. However, I did some research, and foods like bananas, turmeric, honey, aloe, and vinegar are considered beneficial for TB patients. Throw in a little magic and Arthur's good as new!


End file.
